


It's a Good Life (If You Don't Weaken)

by EleosEpistrophia



Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Case Fic, M/M, Slow Burn, dark Cooper, spoilers for season one and two
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:22:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27749710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EleosEpistrophia/pseuds/EleosEpistrophia
Summary: Harry doesn't know that he's corporeal. Cooper just wants to touch him.
Relationships: Dale Cooper/Harry Truman
Comments: 11
Kudos: 20





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So I started writing this fic halfway through season two. This first chapter is a collection of stolen moments up until S2EP10. Most of them aren't tied to specific cannon events, so you can place them wherever you want. I'm not exactly sure as to the pacing of TP canonically, so if you try to match up the timelines exactly it probably won't work, and I'm O.K. with that. After this first chapter I'm going completely AU but with plot elements from season two sown in. Also, Cooper becomes super OOC during this, but I hope I do it in a half believable way. Background information taken from the Twin Peaks wiki, with some parts I made up for good measure.
> 
> So let me know what you think! Comments are always appreciated.

Cooper doesn’t believe in stereotypes.

For one thing, stereotypes are intellectually lazy, which is unbecoming of a servant of the law. They make you stop looking, stop thinking, stop questioning. Cooper is incapable of shutting off his brain. Or at least, he assumes so – he’s never tried. He did go to a meditation class with a girlfriend once, but enjoyed watching his thoughts go by so much that he didn’t understand the impetus to ‘empty his mind’. He’s since learned that there are many types of meditation, and believes that only by observing every thought, instinct and impulse can one truly seek the truth.

The second thing is that stereotypes deny the humanity buried within every human being. Cooper knows that everyone is as unique as their fingerprint – more so, in fact. With over 100 billion neurons in the human brain, each firing 200 times a second, each individual has the ability to become someone else moment to moment. The criminal who shoots an officer one day might make a tearful confession the next. The ability to reinvest one’s self on a whim makes man the most dangerous and misunderstood creature of all.

When he gets the Twin Peaks case, he receives some well-meaning professional advice from Gordon. “You’ve only worked in cities before.” He cautions loudly. Cooper listens, holding the receiver a good half foot away from his ear. “Rural towns are a different ball game. The first thing is they’ve got less experience and fewer resources. The sheriff’s department probably hasn’t handled anything heavier than an involuntary manslaughter charge from a drunken brawl. All elected officials are gonna be from families that have held these posts since time immemorial, elected because of a name. They’ll’ve staffed their offices with family members and friends who don’t know the first thing about their jobs but like the steady paycheque and the prestige. The sheriff will be some obese ex-quarterback still bragging about his glory years when he scored the final touchdown in the homecoming game and screwed the high school’s twin sisters in the locker room afterwards. You think the city cops are bad, the undeserved ego on this guy will make your hair curl. And whatever doctor they have there will have graduated dead last in medical school and talk endlessly about how he ‘wanted’ to move to the country for simple living, not because it was the only position he could find in the only state that hadn’t yanked his medical license, so don’t trust any of his results until they’re verified by us. And these small towns are incredibly incestuous. Make no mistake – all the crimes that happen in big cities happen in these small places too, just not on the same scale. Everybody’s covering for everybody else, because you’ve only got so many options to get your drugs or your blackmail money or your ladies of the evening. Don’t trust anyone.”

After his ears stop ringing Cooper promptly forgets most of Gordon’s monologue and hits the open road. He hadn’t learned how to drive until after college, by which point it had become a necessity for adulthood. It was surprising to him when he found it an enjoyable exercise. The fast pace of the road allowed him to anchor a little more deeply in his thoughts, to expand his consciousness as wide as the bubble of steel and glass. He wonders, quite frequently, if the Dalai Lama has ever experienced the pleasure of automotive meditation.

Cooper has criss-crossed the entire country between flights and drives, but when he enters Colville National Forest there’s something intangibly different. Time seems to be holding its breath, unsure if the sun should be rising or setting as it bounces on the horizon. He checks his speedometer, presses on the gas a little harder, but it is a struggle for his rented Lincoln to do more than five over despite the relatively flat roads. The air vents spray him with the scent of pine and earth, and Cooper thinks it must be mother nature’s anxiolytic because the slow passage of time feels peaceful instead of sluggish. He’s supposed to meet Sheriff Truman at Calhoun Memorial Hospital at six, has a date, but he knows that no matter what time he shows up the Sheriff will be patiently waiting, stuck there until Cooper comes to set time in motion again. Home is the place where those who love you wait for your return, and Cooper wonders if he hasn’t been here already, is fulfilling a promise made to a lover eons ago.

When he arrives at Calhoun and meets the Sheriff, Cooper isn’t surprised to notice that there is very little about Harry S. Truman indicates he ever played football. Sure, he’s dashingly attractive in a way that stirs Cooper’s interest. It’s easy to see Harry in the role of the athletic high school heart throb. But he lacks the grandiose presence of a man used to smashing his way down the field. Harry shakes Cooper’s hand from a distance, almost bending over to keep from getting too close, like he’s wary of giving too much away. He’s a vacuum-wrapped package, keeping his energy, this thoughts, on a tight leash. Cooper doesn’t mind. He knows that in contrast he is hyper expansive, spreading himself far beyond his physical boundaries to encompass a room. In fact he immediately likes Harry because the man is like an anchor, quietly observing and appreciating without judgment, rocking gently in Cooper’s current without losing his ground. He doesn’t flinch when Cooper reminds him that the F.B.I is in charge now, throws his faith Cooper’s way without a question, and the implicit trust is so rare and prized that Cooper can’t help but keep it close to his heart. Harry Truman makes an excellent partner, is the yang to his yin, and it only seems fitting that they found their way to each other.

Cooper is a physically expressive person. A large part of that is simply due to his expansive nature. A smaller part is that, as he learned during the psychological portion of his training, bridging the physical gap between two people can lead to a greater sense of intimacy and comfort. It’s easier to establish that at the beginning of an investigation, build that feeling early, so that when things get hairy and differences of opinion come up there’s a bedrock to fall back on. Usually this is an unremarkable process, but with Harry it’s different. Everything winds up being different with Harry.

At the conference table in the police station Cooper purposely sits a bit closer than necessary, edging the left side of his body into the copious amount of personal space dictated by social norms. He is turned towards Harry, shoulders hunched and head slightly bowed to invite Harry into some secret intimacy. Harry’s response is peculiar. His shoulders strain away even as he leans his head in, as if he wants Cooper’s confidence but can’t let go of some lingering fear. Testing the waters Cooper puts his hand on the sheriff’s shoulder, resisting the urge to apply pressure to the fingers to draw them closer together. Harry doesn’t react at first. 

“Nobody’s perfect.” Harry responds graciously.

“Ain’t that the truth.” And then his hand is noticed. Usually if the intrusion is unwelcome there is a glance from the hand back to Cooper, in which the subject’s unease will be noted. Instead Harry stares at the hand, just a fraction of a second too long, as if he’s just realized that he is corporeal, that it is possible for others to reach out and touch him.

Cooper doesn’t often do things on instinct but he surprises even himself when he reaches out and pinches Harry’s nose, complete with a quacking sound effect. It was something his dad used to do when he was young and feeling out of sorts, except Harry is a grown man and Cooper isn’t his father. He’s relieved when Harry snorts and give a shy little grin. The moment seems bigger, more momentous, than the brief two seconds it occurs in, takes up more space in his brain than it should.

“My impression of the sheriff is that he is a lonely man.” He tells Diane later, laying on the mattress in the lodge that Harry had recommended. It’s a rare moment where he doesn’t know what he wants to say next and there is a pause while he collects his thoughts. He lays his arm across his forehead, his arm brushing his hairline. There’s an intrusive feeling that arises in his fingertips, as though they are following loose spirals of curls. He can feel the hair letting go as he reaches the end, the strands tickling as they bounce back. He wonders if Harry ever plays with his hair like that, maybe as a means to think, or perhaps as a self-soothing mechanism to allay the loneliness.

“I wonder if it’s easier to be lonely in a small town.” He continues, fingers lightly stroking the hair on his temple, waxy from pomade. “We tend to think of being lonely in big cities, with busy people running about their busy lives, ignoring the constant unnecessary stimulus that threatens to take time away from their over scheduled days. But there’s always the opportunity that you’ll meet someone new, reach for the same can of baked beans as your soul mate in that grocery store across the city that you just happened to pop in to. But I’ve been here a few days and I’ve seen the exact same people scurrying around on the streets. Sheriff Truman is probably in his late thirties. If he hasn’t found that connection here, that person that shares the same wavelength as he does, then there’s no can of baked beans that’s going to bring it to him.” There’s another pause. “He does seem to know a lot about trees. I should ask him for a tour of the wilderness. Diane, it is so refreshing to wake up in the morning and poke my nose outside. I now know what it’s like to literally ‘take a breath of fresh air’.”

Its a few days before it seems suitable to bring up the topic, but Cooper bides his time until the moment is right.

“Hey Harry.” He claps Harry on the shoulder as he heads for one of those delectable donuts on the conference table. “How’d you feel about giving me a tour of Twin Peaks?” Harry looks at him at bit uncomfortably over the edge of his coffee cup.

“There’s not much to show, to be honest. You’re probably staying at the most interesting place in town.” Cooper shakes his head.

“No, no. The beauty of this place isn’t the artificial, man-made structures. It’s how close to nature, how unblemished by air pollution and concrete it is.” He drives up closer to Harry, a little closer than necessary, and lowers his voice conspiratorially. “To be honest, I want to see more trees. Get up close, smell the scent of all the pines and firs and whatever else you have out here. Find out their names, discover their histories.” He maintains eye contact while biting into his jelly doughnut, looking equal parts commanding and hopeful. Harry tucks his free hand into his pocket, shifting uncomfortably.

“I think Hawk would be a better guide than me. He’s really into the… spirituality of it all, I guess. He taught us about all the uses of a birch tree once. He knows his stuff.”

“Birch!” Cooper throws his arms excitedly, donut crumbs cascading down his left sleeve. “What does a birch tree look like?”

“Well.” Harry furrows his eyebrows and lowers his cup of coffee. “There’s different types. Some have white bark, others have brown - “

“I think you know more than enough to give me a tour.” Cooper smiles earnestly. Harry doesn’t blush, but he lowers his head and takes a step back, a small smile playing about his lips as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“OK.” He meets Cooper’s eyes and tilts his cup slightly towards him. “But it can’t be long. At least one of us needs to be reachable if there’s some development in the Laura Palmer case.”

“Of course. Just an hour or so.” Cooper reassures him, grinning.

Normally Cooper isn’t fond of being a passenger. It’s not that he’s a backseat driver, he’s just so used to being alone in a vehicle that sharing that meditative bubble with someone else seems a little wrong. With Harry it’s different. In the truck he seems to let down his guard a little bit, let himself expand into the space a tiny bit more. He drives with a calm confidence, like the streets and roads are extensions of his arteries and veins. When he pulls off onto an unmaintained dirt road Cooper is delighted.

“Sorry, it’s a bit rough.” Harry apologises. Cooper shakes his head.

“This is far more exciting than I thought it would be.” He wants to catalog every detail for Diane, remembering every sight and scent and every bit of knowledge Harry can throw at him.

“Considering how excited you were about Douglas Firs, I’m hoping you won’t wind up peeing in my truck.” Harry looks at him again, flashing a self-conscious smile.

_A joke._

Cooper throws back his head and cries out his laughter, slapping his thigh with his hand. Harry looks unsettled.

“Coop?” 

“Like a dog. That is hiLARious!” Cooper bends over, wheezing out his words. “Harry, you’re a funny guy.”

“Not that funny.” His attention is on the muddy path, particularly some large rocks that he needs to maneuver around. Reaching into the space between them he grabs the gear shift and switches the truck into four-wheel drive. Cooper suddenly thinks that it would have been wise to rent some sort of utility vehicle for this trip, like a Jeep. It’s too late now, but he makes a note to mention it to Diane for future cases.

“Harry, do you have dogs?”

“I used to. Two of ‘em, to keep each other company while I was at work. But they both died, and I don’t really have enough time for one anyway.” Harry navigates over the rocks and the truck bed follows with a small _thunk_ when the vehicle is clear of them. Cooper nods.

“I know what you mean. I kept lizards as a kid. Very low-maintenance animals, but nothing can live without attention for months at a time. I tried a potted cactus that I picked up in Albuquerque, and even that didn’t make it.” Suddenly Cooper feels a sort of ache in the area above the xiphoid process. He supposes it’s supposed to be the heart, but it really isn’t, not in specific anatomical terms. It comes up sometimes when he thinks of the empty apartment waiting for him back in Pittsburgh, when he thinks of the series of events that put him there. He does his best not to dwell in the past or live in the future.

“I always wanted a lizard as a kid.” Harry admits, a small smile coming to the corner of his mouth. “What kind did you have?”

“A few different types, but my favourite was Ally. She was a blue-tongued skink.” That feeling disappears as Cooper smiles, looking out the window. “She was shy, but when it was feeding time she’d hop right up to me, tongue in the air, begging for her cricket. You may have heard that reptiles don’t have personalities, but that is categorically false. They won’t come up and lick your face when you get home, but for a patient, gentle person they are rewarding.”

“I’ve read about them. They come from Australia, right? They’re very striking.”

“She was a beautiful lady.” Cooper agrees, his attention back on the driver. It was rare for someone to actually be able to talk shop about reptiles. “I had her for thirteen years. They live for about twenty, but she was an adult when I got her so we never really knew how old she was. She died right before I headed off to college. I’ve always believed that it was her way of sending me off, telling me to go forth and become the man that I was meant to be. Death seems to be this horrible thing, but it has a meaning all of its own. The universe knows when to take things away, when things need to change.” It’s slight, but the energy in the cabin shifts, deepens. As Cooper looks on intently, Harry lifts his left arm to the window and leans his elbow into it, cradling his cheek on his fist as he drives with one hand. He sniffles a little and rubs at his nose.

“We’re almost there.”

Harry doesn’t lie. Less than five minutes later they’ve parked in a small turn-out and are hiking along a path. The ground is cold and sometimes wet with melting slush and Cooper wishes he had brought boots instead of wearing his black oxfords. Mostly, however, his mind is filled with the sights and sounds and smells of the forest, which are invigorating to a man who spends most of his time in rooms that smell of cleaning supplies and furniture polish. 

“White bark! Is that a birch tree?” He asks, pressing a flat palm to a trunk that is wider than the two men standing side by side. Harry shakes his head.

“Willow. It’s unfortunate that you’re here during the spring – they’re impressive during the summer. The branches droop so they make little curtains of leaves.” Cooper’s mind fills in the blanks, adding green foliage to the barren limbs. He presses his face close to the bark, inhaling the delicate scent of cool wood.

“The deciduous ones aren’t going to smell or look like much at this time of the year.” Harry says, and Cooper can feel his eyes on his back. “The coniferous ones are really the ones that are going to stand out.” Cooper remembers learning those terms back in some elementary science class, and is pleased that they have finally come in handy. “Didn’t you ever go camping as a kid? Go to boy scouts?” Cooper now has his ear plastered against the tree, wondering if he can hear any signs of life as spring begins to thaw the giant from its sleep.

“Sure. But they don’t make forests like this in Philadelphia.” He turns to face Harry, reveling in the crunch the pine needles make beneath his feet. “Too many people out east. We didn’t keep our trees like you guys did.”

“C’mon, it’s not that far to New Hampshire or Vermont.” Harry’s eyes crinkle at the corners, looking amused.

“Too cold. My mother was from Minnesota and vowed to never feel minus 40 again.” Inwardly Cooper is beginning to think that this was a mistake on his mother’s part. There’s something about the woods that makes him feel a deep sense of longing, as though some primordial part of him remembers the mud pools that his ancestors spawned from. This is the first time in a long time that he doesn’t feel the need to be on the move, like he could take a breather and just cradle himself in the boughs of the trees until they rocked him into quietness.

“Those cold days are the best ones.” Harry insists, and it is slight but his words are a little passionate, a little wistful. “You go outside and there’s no living creature for miles around – no birds, no animals, everyone is inside. The only sound is just a little wind shuffling snowflakes across the horizon. The air is so cold and so dry it actually smells burnt. It’s the most peaceful place you’ll ever be.” Something inside Cooper knows this is true.

Cooper is a people person. He likes getting into the nuts and bolts of the mind, seeing what makes each individual tick. It all starts off very innocently – simple questions in those calm spaces between moments of excitement.

“What’s it like growing up in a small town?” Harry looks up from his paperwork, looks to the side for a moment, then shrugs.

“I don’t know. I don’t really have much to compare it to, other than university.”

“You went to university? Where?”

“Washington State.” Harry has become much more relaxed around Cooper, a little more open and affable, but Cooper can feel him pulling back in. Cooper gets up and refills his coffee cup, chattering as he strides back and forth across the room.

“University was one of the greatest times of my life. I took a bit of a detour – went off into the world for three years before going. Those three years were damned good. Maybe even better than this coffee here. What did you study?”

“Majored in criminal justice. Minored in math. What did you do in your years off?” He can sense that Harry is genuinely interested in his answer, but also knows when someone is trying to change the subject. Cooper sits down to the chair on Harry’s side, scooting his chair a little closer as he stares brightly with a smile.

“You always knew you were going to be a sheriff, eh?”

“Like my dad and my brother.” Cooper blinks for a moment. He has so many questions running around in his mind, but has to be careful not to turn a friendly conversation into an interrogation.

_Alright Gordon. You win this one._

“Mathematics is an interesting choice. I don’t know many people in law enforcement who dabbled in it. In fact, I think you’re the first.” Harry is leaning back in his chair, one hand clenching his pen and the other digging nails into his palm.

“I was good at math in high school. It was soothing.” Cooper considers this. He had never been great at math. Passable, but it had been the least invigorating of his subjects and had received little attention from him. Perhaps his recalcitrance had been mistaken. He can picture Harry scribbling down the numbers, getting lost in the simple poetry of calculations and substitutions.

“Any girls?” Harry jolts, and Cooper knows that he’s hit a nerve. He’s not entirely sure that the ground they’re on is sturdy enough for intimate examination of each other, but can’t help his inquisitive nature. “This topic seems to make you uncomfortable. Why is that?” Harry’s head jerks towards to window but some of the tension seems to leave his body, like it’s been given permission to release.

“Look Coop. I don’t know how old you are but I was born in 1950, graduated high school in ‘68.” He lets out a nervous laugh and runs a hand through his hair. Cooper does his best to not to be distracted. “Vietnam was goin’ on. My older brother had been drafted. I wasn’t supposed to go to university, I was just going to become a deputy right out of high school. Except the draft was still there, and my brother just kept telling me ‘You can’t go to that shithole. None of us are supposed to be there.’ I was ready to take my chances, but my dad and Frank wouldn’t let me. We didn’t have much money, being sheriff in Twin Peaks doesn’t compare to the higher cost of living in the cities, but my dad made it work. Most of the guys here either knocked up a girl when they were 17 and married when they were 18 or got drafted. Some of my high school friends came back in body bags. Meanwhile I was sitting pretty in Seattle, making notes about the philosophy of justice and Fermat’s theorem while girls were throwing themselves at us because there was a shortage of available men.” He turns his head and makes eye contact, his gaze both defiant and pleading for understanding, as his torso leans in. Cooper follows and the crowns of their heads come so close that he has to fight not to rest them together. 

“In my third year my father talked about me going to graduate school if the war was still goin’ on. I think he thought I was too weak to come out of Vietnam like my brother did, thought I wouldn’t be able to handle war. But the draft was abolished in ‘72 and I got to walk out of Seattle with my useless degree and stories about easy girls and drunken weekends rather than a body full of bullets and lungs full of napalm. And when I walked out, no one was screamin’ that I was a baby killer. I’m where I am today because I rested on the backs of men far braver and stronger and less lucky than me. It makes a man _uncomfortable_ to remember that.” Cooper is aware of the return of tension in Harry’s breath, shallow and cautious, gearing up for fight or flight. He blinks.

“Harry.” There’s a gravity to his voice, it’s deeper than what he wants it to be. “I don’t know if you’ve ever listened to the boys from Vietnam talk, but I can guarantee you that each of them had more easy girls and drunken weekends that you could have gotten through with a PhD.” Harry’s eyes widen and for a moment he is blank, nonreactive. Cooper holds the space for him.

“Seriously?” Harry asks. Cooper nods.

“I spent eight hours in a bar in Cincinnati talking about nothing but Vietnam. I learned more about sex during that time than I had in eight years of reading the letters in Penthouse.” Harry laughs, initially silent giggles until air begins to escape and tears seep out of the corners of his eyes. Cooper isn’t entirely sure what’s so funny, but the sound makes his belly warm and he grins.

“Diane.” Cooper is melancholic as he drives, one hand on the wheel and one holding his tape recorder. “It’s amazing how much passes in such a short amount of time. Take Harry, for example. He’s only four years older than I am. I hadn’t realized that. He’s got this rugged, timeless look on him. A classically handsome man, I must say. I still get carded at bars. When I was 18 I was out traveling on a grand adventure, not a care in the world, convinced of my invincibility. When he was 18 – a mere four years earlier – he was fighting to stay at home instead of being sent out to a meat grinder across the world. I wonder if that can give someone a complex. Your first taste of the wider world is your government telling you to go overseas and fight a war that no one wants to be involved in. It seems like it would be safer just to stay at home. At one time I had debated between the FBI and the CIA. I tend to think that Vietnam hasn’t effected me, but when I look back the criticism about foreign policy and American imperialism made involvement in anything overseas seem unsavory.” There was also the fact that his older brother had been a draft dodger who had never returned home. As open and free as he was with Diane, even Cooper knew that you don’t reveal the secrets of others on a tape marked ‘Property of the US Government’. “I also don’t have a foreign language, which made field prospects in the CIA more uncertain. And I don’t particularly enjoy politics. Just between us, Diane, I have neglected to vote in every election since I came of age. Perhaps it is unwise to eschew my democratic responsibility. Plato did warn us that democracy leads to tyranny when men are undisciplined and chaotic. But he was also speaking of direct democracy rather than the constitutional republic that we currently inhabit, so maybe he would be more forgiving towards me.” He clicks the ‘stop’ button as he pulls into the Double R. So far this is the only thing he doesn’t like about the town: the drive is never long enough to clear your head.

When Dale walks through the door of the police station Lucy beckons him over.

“Special Agent Cooper!” she waves excitedly, as though he might somehow manage to walk by her without noticing.

“Hello Lucy! How is the brain of the station doing today?” He asks brightly as he approaches her desk. 

“Awww.” Lucy puts her hands over her heart. “That is the nicest thing I’ve heard all week. You know, I don’t get enough credit for what I do around here. I never drop calls or misfile things. Well, OK, there was that one time a couple of years ago where there was this guy calling and threatening Hawk, apparently he used to date his girlfriend or something that was mad because… well, no one really knows why some guys get so angry, do you? Anyway he kept changing the sound of his voice on the phone, going higher or lower so I never really got used to it, and I kept transferring the calls. Hawk wasn’t even mad, he’s a really nice guy even though he can seem a little gruff sometimes, but you know, all the men here are total sweetie pies. Except for that one deputy who started working here a few years ago. He didn’t last long, but man he was just a _total a-hole_! I could go on about him for days, but Harry is such a nice guy and just kept saying ‘give him time’. The last straw was when Harry sent him out to see Mrs. Holloway, who is just the sweetest little old lady in the town. She was concerned that someone was poisoning her cats because Mr. Snuffalufagus kept throwing up. She calls all the time, I don’t know if she really thinks bad things are happening or if she’s just lonely. Anyway, when Henry comes back he’s all ‘She’s not going to be bothering us anymore’ and Harry’s just like ‘Whaddya mean?’ And Henry says he told her that she was a batty old loon wasting taxpayer dollars and that if she hadn’t _wasted her life_ being a _whore_ in high school she wouldn’t have caught _the clap_ and become barren and she could harass her kids instead. Mr. Cooper, I didn’t know Harry was _capable_ of that kind of anger. I was _scared_. And really, if the sheriff kills a deputy, who the hell am I supposed to call? Not that he did, but if he had I probably wouldn’t have told anyone, to be honest. I mean...” She trails off guiltily, but Cooper just holds up his hands.

“Thought crimes aren’t illegal. Although if you had told me that Sheriff Truman had killed the young deputy, I’d have trouble believing you anyway.” Lucy flushes and nods.

“I know! He’s just so sweet. After work he went to visit poor Mrs. Holloway, and I think things are alright now because she still calls us. Sometimes she doesn’t even ask for someone to come out. Sometimes she just calls and talks about her cats. She has a lot of them, so sometimes I have to cut her off and go back to work. I feel bad about that, but -” She’s interrupted by the sound of Andy struggling to open the outside doors, hands cupping around some precious prize that he is trying not to jostle. Cooper quickly strides across the lobby and opens the set in the mudroom.

“Thanks Coop.” He says gratefully, flashing a self-conscious grin. “Look at what I found on the sidewalk!” He opens his large hands and there is a red bird with a white breast nestled inside, head rapidly bobbing in every direction. 

“What a fabulous creature.” Cooper gasps, sidling up so they can both gaze at it.

“ _Deputy Brennan_.” Lucy’s voice turns hard and demanding. “Is there something that I should be aware of?”

“I’m sorry Lucy.” He whines. “It’s just this little bird I found!” Lucy jumps up and runs around to join them, and the three of them form a little protective circle over Andy’s hand. “I don’t think he can fly – he was just hopping around on the sidewalk, never made it into the air. I didn’t want anyone to step on him, or for him to run out into traffic.” Cooper can feel Lucy softening and for a moment she looks up at Andy, her eyes glowing with affection.

“That was excellent thinking Andy.” Cooper agrees just as Harry and Hawk are coming through the doors. They’re both smiling at each other, laughing with an easy intimacy. That feeling in the xiphoid comes back – the one that makes him think of his empty apartment – but this time it comes with a wounded sensation in his gut that makes him feel as though he’s bleeding out. Jealousy. It seems inappropriate, an overreaction, but Cooper doesn’t begrudge it. He knows that emotions are simply one form of information, however opaque they may be. 

“Harry! Hawk! I found this little bird and – ouch!” Cooper supposes the bird must have pecked him because Andy’s hands fly open and the bird stretches its wings helplessly as it crash lands on the carpet. There’s a flurry of movement as everyone jumps into action. While Andy is crying “I’m sorry little guy! I’m just tryina help yeh!” Cooper can’t help but reflect that what Lucy has said is true – all the men of this office are sweetie pies. He wishes this was a universal truth of law enforcement agencies, but he knows it isn’t. For every man who joined to do a service to the community, there’s another that just likes the opportunity to wield power over others. Some just enjoy the thrill of being in charge, of being able to legally brandish a gun and use force, and there’s an unfortunately large minority that deliberately seek the chance to damage and hurt. He sees these three men, all tall with large, powerful hands, trying to gently coax the tiny creature to safety and he can’t help but feeling a yearning to protect them from whatever evil has come to their tiny town. The world needs more men like them, more offices like this, and for a moment Cooper is filled with the dread that he will the harbinger of destruction, bringing the outside world to this little slice of paradise. It’s been a nagging feeling since Harry had introduced him to the Bookhouse Boys. Cooper has wondered if his sense of homecoming stems from the woods or the darkness that lurks within. 

It’s Harry that finally manages to capture the bird, palms flattening to cushion the fall from one of its hops. “That’s right little guy.” He coos softly, looking pleased. “You can stop right there.” The bird isn’t as enamored with Harry’s gentleness as Cooper is, and Harry winces when it pecks him but doesn’t let go. “I’d be scared too.”

“Remember when that raccoon came wandering onto the field during practice?” Hawk asks, glancing at Harry. Harry’s face lights up with the memory.

“Oh man, how could I forget?” He laughs. “Coach told everyone to get off the field and we had to call my dad in. Then when he got there he said,” Harry straightens up and puts on a deeper, more commanding voice. It seems an instinctual thing to do when imitating one’s father. “'Harry, tell Melinda that her dirty laundry needs to stay at her place.’” Hawk lets out a bark of a laugh which, Cooper can tell Harry’s by sudden grimace, startles the bird.

“I have a box for you.” Lucy comes out of the hallway with a bankers box in one hand and a lid in the other.

“Thanks. Just set it on the ground there.” With a coordinated effort they both crouch down, and after Harry gently places the bird inside Lucy seals it in.

“You played football?” Cooper asks, cocking his head.

“Yep.” Harry says proudly as he gets up, and hooks an arm around Hawk’s neck, giving him a little squeeze. “Me and Hawk here. My brother was on the team too.”

“What position did you play?” Harry shoots him an amused glance.

“Cooper, if I told you, would it mean anything to you?” Hawk lets out another bark and playfully punches Harry in the chest, disentangling them.

“He was a mediocre quarterback is what he means.”

“Hey, I was on the all-star team.” Harry protests with a lopsided grin, half-heartedly knocking a fist against Hawk’s arm.

“The only reason he became sheriff is because ‘I was a quarterback’ stops working on women in the bar when you hit 25. ‘I can put you in handcuffs’, however... ” Cooper’s eyes bounce back and forth at their repartee, both amused and feeling like he might bleed out at any moment.

“We can’t all have your animal magnetism, Hawk.” Harry turns sharply and looks at Cooper, as if his named had been called. For an awkward moment Cooper feels exposed, feels his grimacing smile is revealing too much of that ache that has both preceded Twin Peaks and been born of it. He wonders if Harry can feel that pain, if it had called out to him on some primitive level, some mutual woundedness making a connection. He says, “Coop, I bet ‘I’m an FBI agent’ would have some major appeal in this town.”

“Yeah Coop.” Hawk agrees, and they both look at him as if seeing him for the first time. “It’s a pretty flashy title around these parts.” Cooper laughs, a shaky release, feeling both warmed by his inclusion and irritated that he’s an outsider. It’s ineffable – he’s an outsider wherever he goes, and it has never particularly bothered him before. He shakes his head.

“It doesn’t hold as much appeal as you’d think. I’d tried using it while I was in training, and it just left empty barstools in its wake. Except for one woman, who offered to let me cavity search her.” Harry and Hawk both snort for a moment, almost of the verge of disbelief, before breaking out into pearls of laughter. Harry almost falls over as he folds, and Cooper can’t help but let out a genuine grin himself.

“I put the bird on your desk.” Lucy stops when she sees the two men and frowns. “What’s so funny?” Cooper opens his mouth, but she turns to him suddenly.

“Oh, by the way, what I wanted to tell you is that Harry and Hawk were out on a call, and Harry said that if you got here before they were back to just go into the office and have some donuts and coffee, and that they won’t be long.” Cooper, still smiling, nods.

“Thanks Lucy.”

“Oh, Lucy, could you give Mr. Kemper a call and ask if he might take in the bird?” Harry gasps out, wiping the corners of his eyes. “I’m not sure what to do with it if he won’t, so if he refuses ask him what he suggests.”

“Of course Sheriff Truman.” Lucy returns to her desk and Andy watches her with a wistful expression that Cooper finds touching. Life would be a whole lot different if everyone wore their emotions as earnestly and openly as he did.

“Coop.” Harry calls. “I’m just going to use the restroom and then we can get started.”

“Sounds good. By the way,” Cooper almost stops himself but can’t. He steps over to Harry and puts a hand on his lower back, leaning in. “Did you have any twins at your high school?” Harry’s eyes widen in confusion.

“When I went there? No. I think there’s a set there now. Fraternal, a boy and a girl.” His eyes narrow. “Does this have anything to do with Laura Palmer?”

“Nope.” Cooper grins and slaps Harry’s back before swaggering to the conference room. “Not at all.”

“Diane, have you ever had mood swings? Perhaps this is sexist, but I assume that the level of emotional lability I’ve experienced today would be best appreciated by a woman. There was loneliness and jealousy, warmth and concern, a feeling of absolute dread, happiness… I ran the gamut of my emotional states, and it is surprisingly exhausting. Moreover I have had too much time today to think about my life decisions, and a man runs into danger when he lives in the past.

“We all make trades in life, Diane. I traded stability for adventure, and most of the time I am happy with that choice. My apartment is not a home but I get to sleep in every corner of the country. I don’t have deep relationships with many people, but I get to meet new ones all the time. And there is a sense of freedom in that. It doesn’t matter if my apartment complex burns down because I’m rarely there. It doesn’t matter if the people I work with don’t like me because I will be gone in a few months. It doesn’t matter if I share the same goals and values with a woman because there is no future in which these issues will come up. But when I’m enjoying the company of Harry and Hawk and Andy I find myself remorseful. They have these bonds that have been forged by a childhood spent together, bonds which I have eschewed. I accused Harry of being lonely, and I still stand by that assertion, but we see most readily in others the things we suffer with ourselves. In some respects I think that Harry has made the smarter choice to trade adventure for security. Diane, Twin Peaks is the first place I have ever seen myself being able to stay for longer than a few years. This is troubling to me. I am hyper aware of everything, as if I am waiting for the town to reject me, give me an excuse to go packing. Perhaps not having had that stability for so long has made my suspicious of it. Or perhaps I have come to a midlife crisis earlier than expected. Remind me to research ‘andropause’ when I get home.”

Cooper believes in following his intuition. There’s some intangible link between the human spirit and cosmic forces and when he gets an itch he has to scratch it. So when something beckons him for an evening stroll around The Great Northern Hotel Cooper grabs his jacket and heads out. Or at least, he attempts to.

“Special Agent Cooper.” Audrey’s waved hair floats into view and she cocks her head as she clasps her hands behind her back, her left bowling shoe drawing circles into the floor. “Is there something you need?”

“You’re kind to ask, but I’m just going out for a walk.” He nods towards her and starts to walk away but she reaches out and grabs him by the elbow.

“Would you like some company? It can be hard to find your way around in the darkness.” Her eyes are sly and hopeful, full of promises that Cooper knows she’s too young and inexperienced to fulfill. He appraises her for a moment, listening for a whisper of intuition. But there’s a feeling in his gut that says he needs to shed her, that she isn’t part of the plan, so he shakes his head regretfully.

“Not tonight. Sometimes a person just needs a little solitude to get their mind in order.”

“But you’re always alone.” She presses, and Cooper thinks she is going to kiss him as she steps forward, looking up expectantly, but she stops short.

“We’re never really alone, Audrey. The idea of our separateness is a trick of the mind. We were all one, billions of years ago, a cohesive collection that made up the universe. We may have separate forms, but even now we are all made up of the same molecules that make space and time and the stars. Somewhere along the way we forgot that, created the illusion that we are separate from our fellow beings.” Audrey’s glossed lips part breathlessly and her eyes shine with admiration.

“That is amazing.” Cooper smiles, fondly remembering himself at that age - where being treated as an intellectual equal was a greater rush than a confession of love. He can’t help but see some of himself in her and is grateful that she is as young as she is. Audrey is in that delicate phase of womanhood where she knows her seductive power but lacks the life experience to realize how quickly it can turn on her. In a few years her clumsy brashness will be refined into that feminine mystique which men will follow to their destruction, and he can only hope that trouble doesn’t find her before she is ready for it.

“Audrey. The phone is ringing.” He nods towards the reception desk. She gives him a smile that is somehow beaming yet coy before skipping back to her work.

When he steps outside the air is cool and calm. There’s almost no sound save for his own breath and the crunch of grass compressing under his shoes. Audrey is right – there’s no definitive walking path around the premises and the moon has disappeared, rendering everything shades of black against an even greater darkness. He can see someone stepping off into the woods and not being able to find their way back until a search team rescues them. Cooper has an excellent sense of direction but doubts he could fight off a predator, even with his concealed .22, so he chooses to play it safe and wanders the short distance to the waterfalls.

He’s not sure what he’s been called out here for so he simply observes. The lack of stimulus makes this easier. Even as his eyes adjust to the darkness he has to concentrate on all the senses to find that missing link that will direct him to where he’s supposed to be. It’s subtle, but he eventually hears the sound of a bottle being poured, the liquid gurgling as it leaves the bottle and the pitter patter as it hits the dirt. He follows the sound to the corner of the waterfall, where the cliff meets the forest, and sees a very familiar silhouette.

“Harry.” There’s an excitement to seeing his friend unexpectedly, except he instinctively knows he has intruded on a private moment and feels a small surge of regret. His curiosity is greater. Harry jerks around and Cooper can see a handle of some liquor in one hand and a carton of milk in the other. Harry’s mouth gapes awkwardly.

“Hi.” Cooper tries again.

“Uh… hi.” Harry replies sheepishly, sweeping his arms behind his back.

“Drinking with the fish? Leaving milk out for the bobcats?” Cooper walks over. It’s impossible to tell but he thinks the sheriff might be blushing.

“No. It’s a… a ritual.” 

“Fascinating! A local custom or a private one?” Harry can’t meet his eyes when he replies.

“Private.”

“Can I see?” Cooper holds out his hands, and Harry reluctantly relinquishes the vessels. Cooper doesn’t know his liquors that well but makes an educated guess that this particular bottle isn’t cheap. 

“Whole milk and a bottle of scotch. I can see why you didn’t mix them.” He sets them down and observes Harry. He must have just left the station because he’s still in his sheriff’s uniform, sans Stetson, and his hands are awkwardly fidgeting in his pockets. Cooper has noticed that Harry likes to hold things and when his hands are empty it betrays a physical unease, like he’s just hit a growth spurt and doesn’t quite know where his limbs are supposed to go.

“It’s my mother’s birthday today.” Harry says quietly. “She actually did drink milk and scotch.” Cooper‘s breath catches.

“My mother is deceased as well.” His hands suddenly feel the cold and he puts them in his own pockets, stepping so close to Harry that their jackets touch. “She died when I was 15. Aneurysm.” Harry finally looks Cooper in the eye and there’s a sense of kinship that a shared tragedy creates, a melding of understanding and and a twinning of energies.

“Mine died when I was 10. Suicide.” Cooper’s gut squeezes and he doesn’t know what to say, probably because there’s nothing you _can_ say. Instead he takes out his hand and puts it on the only available skin, Harry’s neck, massaging the tenseness he finds there. Harry melts into it, relaxing his shoulders. “She used to take me here, in the years when Frank was in school but I was still too young. She’d just sit here and gaze out at the sky for hours. She’s buried in the cemetery, but I think she’s really here.” Cooper nods and silently agrees. If there is a place where a soul wants to be it’s where the earth and the sky and the water meet with eternity stretched out over the horizon.

“My mother is in New Jersey. No grave site, we just threw her ashes into the Atlantic. I thought the ocean was too small to contain her. The only place big enough to hold a mother’s love is inside the human spirit.” Harry looks at Cooper with shining eyes and a small smile.

“I didn’t take you for a poet.”

“All women deserve a bit of poetry now and again.” They stay quiet for a few moments and Cooper’s thumb starts lazy circles at the base of Harry’s scalp, fingers gently resting at the side of his neck. He can feel the curls gently bobbing and the blood pumping through the carotid artery. Most acutely he feels Harry’s need to be touched, to be made corporeal, and his own need to reach out and feel.

“Imagine the stories the Big Log has to tell.” Cooper murmurs as they pull into the parking lot of the Great Northern. Meeting with Margaret and the log has put him into a contemplative mood. Harry shifts the gear into park and looks over.

“Margaret told me once that when they cut that tree down the entire forest wept, that a bitterness so great arose that it began choking the air, threatened the survival of very living thing. So the forest had to choose to release the bitterness and find peace with what had happened. Says her log doesn’t like to talk about it, even though it was just a sapling when it happened.” He says it in a way that makes it clear that he believes her. Cooper loves him for it, for being such a straight-cut, salt-of-the-earth man with the wisdom to respect all the things that he can’t understand. He thinks Harry might understand him, and there’s a compulsion to say the words he hadn’t dared utter for fear of making them true.

“I think I’m the reason that the tree was cut down.” He says. The two men eye each other cautiously, a frown etching its way across Harry’s brow.

“Coop, that happened before my father was born. You didn’t have anything to do with it.” Cooper shakes his head.

“Time doesn’t just go forward like a river. It’s more like a tide – flowing forward and backwards, dragging silt and sand back into the ocean. I think that if I hadn’t come here, things would have been different.” Harry cocks his head contemplatively, searching Cooper’s face in the dying light. He wonders if Harry finds the seeds of ominous workings in it.

“Maybe you’re right, that time does flow backwards, that maybe effect sometimes comes before cause. But I also know the woods aren’t unjust, they don’t call for the murder of an innocent girl. If there’s any relation between you and them it’s that they knew what would happen here ages before it came to be, that men would do horrible things, and they created you to set it right.” Harry expands, like he’s channeling something greater than himself, becoming a mouthpiece for the woods. “You fit into this town. It’s like there’s been something missing, throwing it off balance. When you came it was like we could breathe easy again. And I think the longer you stay here, the more balanced this town will be.” This is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to Cooper and if he were prone to tears this would be the time they came. Instead it awakens something inside of him, an urge he thought had died. He feels awkward in his skin, uncomfortable with the temporal vessel he’s chained to. It pretends to divide him from the star stuff he came from and he desperately wants to free both of them from this charade, wants to reach out and plunge his hand deep into Harry, past the skin and flesh and bone and unite in the way they had been united millennia before. Except he doesn’t know the path to get there and this entire experience of being corporeal seems so exhaustingly hard to understand.

“Harry.” He says, his mouth dry with a sort of arousal that goes beyond the physical. He knows Harry feels it too, that tug towards the eternal spirit. Harry’s pupils are dilated, he might have stopped breathing, maybe his heart has stopped too. Cooper wants to reach out and touch him, see if they have shed their physical forms, but is afraid that if he dares he might be proven wrong. He wants more of _this_ , wants Harry in his room but can’t find the words to get him there, thinks that maybe if he just visualizes it their spirits will be transported there and then… and then what?

“I’ve got to get back to the station.” Harry’s gravelly voice breaks the moment. He’s retreated back into himself and Cooper knows because there’s a note of fear, his hand hand on the wheel is shaky. Cooper is almost dizzy with how quickly he falls back into time and space, thinks he might be sick.

“Of course.” Cooper looks through the front windshield, pursing his lips. The illusion of separateness expands like a galaxy between them and some desperate part wants to stay, see if they can bridge that gap again. But he knows they won’t, not tonight, and the loss is bittersweet. Cooper opens the passenger side door, plants his unsteady feet on the earth. “Goodnight, Harry.”

When he gets to his room he sees his door ajar and finds a naked Audrey lying in wait. He wants to laugh, except nothing about this is funny.

Touching Harry becomes different. It goes from a friendly attempt to establish a rapport to a compulsion. When the conference room empties he finds a way to follow Harry out, giving him a friendly pat on the shoulder or a guiding hand on his back. When Harry drives them through town Cooper finds a natural moment to give him a reassuring squeeze on his thigh or grabs his arm to draw his attention to an interesting sight. Cooper isn’t an anxious man but he’s been feeling different lately, uncomfortable in his skin, and these acts seem to soothe something within him. He can tell by the way Harry melts under his palms that he feels the same way.

The only imbalance comes after Harry sees Josie. Harry doesn’t tell him when he’s going off for a tryst but Cooper can tell all the same. He comes back to the station looking drawn and tired, a little more shrunken in on himself than when he left. Cooper yearns to touch him, remind him that he isn’t alone, never alone, but Harry bristles like a kicked dog and Cooper learns to give him some space. Instead he takes Harry down to the Double R because he’s sure there’s no greater balm for the soul than a slice of cherry pie.

“Are the cherries grown locally?” Cooper asks Norma as she refills their coffee cups. She smiles with that charming pride that is so prevalent in small towns.

“Of course. We try to use locally whenever we can. Helps the economy and saves us on shipping.”

“That’s actually the secret to the pie.” Harry chimes in from the stool next to him. “Norma uses Rainier cherries, which were actually developed by Washington State University in the 50s. They’re sweeter than dark cherries so they’re better for desserts.” Cooper is impressed, especially when Norma gives him a curious glance.

“I didn’t know that.” She said. “I get tourists in here claiming it can’t be cherry pie because it isn’t red enough. I’ve thought about using the darker ones instead, but they can be hard to get and I don’t want to use canned.” Harry shakes his head.

“I don’t know why people travel and expect everything to be the same as the place they left.”

“Agreed.” Cooper grins. “Norma, those people are philistines and all great artists are under appreciated in their time.”

“Well said.” Harry raises his coffee cup and they toast. Norma gives a sweet, embarrassed smile before sauntering off with a little more pep in her hips. It makes Cooper feel good, and by Harry’s emerging smile he can’t help but feel it as well.

“You are truly a man of great knowledge.” Harry rolls his eyes.

“I had a friend in the agricultural program at Washington State. I don’t know if you’ve ever sat through a man waxing poetically about the amino acid profile of cherries but there wasn’t enough beer in the state.”

“I’ll have to add that to my bucket list.” Cooper takes a pen from his coat pocket and attempts to scribble ‘Cherry poetry/beer shortage’ in the threads of his napkin. Harry snorts and Cooper is happy to see a bit of vitality coming back into his eyes, happy to be the well Harry can drink from when he needs to be replenished. Laughter erupts in a booth behind them and he thinks nothing of it until the two men begin to talk loudly.

“Seen that FBI agent runnin’ around?”

“Yep. Heard he’s a bit queer, eh Larry?”

“No doubt. Seen ‘im drivin’ and talkin’ into that tape recorder. Like havin’ an imaginary friend as a grown-ass man.” Cooper’s hands clench around his coffee mug and his shoulders tense. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before. Usually it wouldn’t bother him, except here and now it does.

“Coop.” Harry reaches out and puts his palm on Cooper’s wrist, twisting his neck to intercept the staring contest between Cooper and the cup of coffee. “Ignore them. They’re idiots, even by small town standards.” This is the first time that Harry has initiated contact and his hand is strong and gentle. It doesn’t relax Cooper - it’s invigorating, sending a shiver down his spine, replacing his tense anger with a different sort of arousal. He takes a deep breath and nods.

“Of course.”

“Tom says he’s a wacko, talking about dreams and shit. Some giant or something. Really makes you appreciate how the country is goin’ to hell, don’t it? The best and brightest they can find is someone who thinks the Friendly Giant is givin’ ‘im clues.” There’s another bout of laughter and Harry shoots up and is out of his seat before Cooper can blink.

“Mr. Jensen.” Harry has a palm on the table and the two men look up expectantly. “Can’t help but notice that you’ve got quite a few cracks on your front window.” One man, presumably Jensen, waves his hand and huffs.

“It’s Washington, Harry. It gets cold. Everybody’s got cracks in their windows.”

“Yes, but yours are obstructing your view and I know you’ve been driving around in with it like that since last winter. I’m gonna have to write you a ticket.” Harry grabs the pad from his utility belt and starts scribbling with gusto.

“That’s not fair.” Jensen argues. “Winters are a low-income season for us farmers.”

“Well, you’ve got thirty days to pay it or you can drive to Spokane to argue with the judge. If you’re lucky you won’t get another ticket on the way.” He slaps the ticket down on the table and mimes tipping his Stetson. “Good evening, gentlemen.” Cooper is speechless, smiling in awe as Harry comes back over. He grabs his wallet and throws a twenty on the counter. “Are you done?” He asks pointedly.

“I think we’re finished here.” Cooper agrees as he rises. Harry grabs his hat and jacket and follows Cooper out the door.

“I owe you, but I don’t think I have a ten on me. I think I have a five right now-”

“I’ll pay for your lunch.” Harry waves him off, but he’s walking so quickly that Cooper has a hard time maintaining the pace. They’d walked to the diner and Cooper doesn’t want to break out into a jog when there’s still patches of ice on the sidewalk.

“Thanks. For all of it.” He calls out. Harry looks over his shoulder like he’s surprised Cooper is there and slows down.

“It’s small town bullshit, Coop. I hope you don’t think you’re not wanted here. Some guys just can’t let an opportunity go by, you know? It’s like high school except the the scrawny kid is in the hospital so they go for the new one.”

“Harry.” Cooper grabs his shoulder and they come to a stop. “This is a damn fine town with damn fine people. You’ve all made me feel very welcome and a couple of assholes don’t change that.” Harry smiles warmly, rests his hand on Cooper’s wrist again, and Cooper is ready to fight every asshole in the county.

Then over Harry’s shoulder he sees Josie and his mood turns dark, suspicious. She’s approaching the only Chinese restaurant in town, walking quickly as though she doesn’t want to be seen. Cooper wouldn’t normally be so incensed at a woman just going about her business. When he had first met her he had found enormous empathy for her plight, felt a sort of kinship. It must be difficult being one of the few minorities in a small town, forever an outsider, saddled with the business concerns of a dead husband. He’s even noticed their physical similarities – dark hair, wide faces, pale skin. But when he sees her all he can remember is Harry coming into the station looking like the walking dead and there’s a violent rejection of her that is primal.

He stares a moment too long and she looks over at him. Her face is harried and when she sees him her eyes widen in surprise. She freezes mid-step, one hand on the door. Cooper’s nostrils flare as his lips and brow contort into a sneer. Disgust is a facial expression common to all cultures on earth but it feels uncomfortable, like his face has never bent that way before now.

“Coop?” Harry follows his gaze and begins to turn. “What’s-” Cooper throws his arm around Harry’s shoulders and a little too forcefully jerks him in the opposite direction. Harry stumbles before falling into step, looking a little confused, but doesn’t question Cooper. His faith never seems to waiver.

“Harry, have I ever told you the story of why I decided to join the F.B.I?” He asks, because it’s the first thing that comes to mind.

“No, but I bet it’s great.”

“As always, you are correct.”

When Cooper opens the station door the next morning he immediately collides into a rushing Harry who is on his way out. It’s a brief moment where he feels the full weight of him, smells the woodsy scent of his aftershave and feels the closely shaved skin of his cheek against his own. He thinks he’s intoxicated.

“Are we going somewhere?” He asks hopefully, dusting off Harry’s hat as he hands it back. Harry has a pained, remorseful expression as he shakes his head.

“Sorry Coop. Nothing to do with Laura Palmer. Just a lot of calls today and we’re a man down until I hire someone.” Harry frowns and reaches out to Cooper, smoothing his lapels back down. His thumbs brush around Cooper’s neck in quick motions, and Cooper has to fight from closing his eyes and leaning into it. He can't remember the last time someone touched him so intimately.

“Oh? Did someone quit?” Harry shakes his head.

“No. Had to fire someone who couldn’t keep their mouth shut about a case. This’ll hopefully be half an hour tops, so just make yourself comfortable.” Cooper watches him jump into his Bronco and drive off, and he doesn’t even try to hide the trembling grin that breaks out. He brings a hand to his neck and face, brushes against the places that Harry had touched him, but his own fingers aren’t nearly as good. When he goes into Harry’s office those places are still burning like a comforting brand and he has a sudden urge that he can’t ignore. It’s almost an out-of-body experience when he starts rummaging around in Harry’s desk drawers. It has to be a dream because a man’s desk is sacrosanct and there is no combination of firing neurons that would make Cooper violate a colleague like this.

It’s only when Cooper gets back to the Great Northern later that night and puts his hand in his coat pocket that he realizes that it was, in fact, _him_ ransacking Harry’s office. The well-worn Liberty Dollar warms in his palm as the blood rushes from his face.

“Diane, when does one cross from being moody to being psychotic? I’m beginning to think that the line might be thinner than I had appreciated. We all act differently when under emotional stress, and we can find ourselves capable of saying and doing things we’d normally find abhorrent. The ‘crime of passion’ is a well-known trope because it has a large basis in reality. Just to clarify, I haven’t murdered or raped anyone, although the irony of sending another agent out to investigate me is amusing. Yet I find myself acting and thinking in ways that are incongruous to who I believe myself to be. I’m not sure why. When I was starting at the Bureau a colleague told me that every agent has his case, the one that changes him irrevocably. The case of Laura Palmer, while tragic, is not radically different from the hundreds of others that I have seen. There is no reason it should be a defining moment in my career. And yet, here I am.”

Cooper thinks he’s handling his moodiness fairly well. He might not be quite as enthusiastic or amicable, but he doesn’t go out of his way to sneer at the people of the town and makes sure he is never left unattended in Harry’s office. He is sure a psychotic person wouldn’t even recognize his antisocial behaviours and the thought gives him a certain amount of comfort. At least until he finds himself screaming at Lucy to “Get to the damn point” - it’s then that he realizes he’s not holding together as well as he thought he was. He can only apologize profusely, tell her she’s done nothing wrong and he’s just having an off-day before slinking red-faced into the conference room. He’s ashamed to find Harry and Hawk inside and by their questioning looks he knows he’s been heard.

When Harry invites him out to the Roadhouse for a drink after work he wants to say no. He’s sure it’s a group invite and a sort of intervention for him. He says yes anyway, because even if he has to share Harry and endure pitying looks it seems a better alternative than stewing in his hotel room.

When he drives over he takes a moment to gather himself in his car. He tries to imagine the person he was before coming to Twin Peaks – friendly, agreeable, excitable. Except he can’t quite find that man. The only Cooper in residence is thieving, high-strung and irritated and the best thing that can be said about him is that he’s trying to hold it in and failing. He wonders if it’s possible to steal someone else’s good cheer, if he can just borrow a persona for the night and put it back in a bedside dresser when he’s done. He should have meditated before coming except now he can’t. He’s too hampered by the fear that if he looks too deeply he won’t be able to recognize what he finds.

When he enters the Roadhouse he’s irritated by the soft, sappy music coming from Julee Cruise and the boisterous joviality of the crowd. It’s noisy and smoky and hot and he doesn’t understand why anyone would choose to be here unless a grave matter was at stake. He spies a couple kissing in the shadows, brazenly wrapped around each other like snakes on a caduceus. A jealous part of him wants to watch, to steal the moment from them in the limited way a voyeur can. Instead he looks away, scanning the crowd in an attempt to push down his mounting frustration.

He finds Harry sitting alone at a table with two chairs, a matching set of beers on top. He looks like he belongs here, like the tableau wouldn’t be complete without him, and it makes Cooper ache. He longs to join the scene, to turn it from ‘Lone Cowboy’ to ‘Return of the Calvary’, but thinks that his arrival can only degrade the moment. When he collects himself enough to approach the table he can tell Harry doesn’t feel the same, that the fear about whether Cooper would come had been a heavy burden.

“Where are the others?” He asks. Harry shrugs.

“Didn’t invite them. You’ve just been a little tense lately and I thought maybe you could use a beer and an ear. Maybe dance with someone pretty. I dunno.” He nods towards the beer sitting by Cooper. “I’ve noticed you don’t really drink, so I ordered for you.” Harry’s right, Cooper would have asked him what to get anyway. Cooper’s right too – this is an intervention, albeit a slightly more personal one.

“I won’t be dancing.” He declares. He wants to tell Harry he won’t be talking either, except that’s a little cantankerous even for his current state of mind. Harry shrugs.

“Alright.”

Cooper settles in as Cruise begins playing another song. He faces the stage so Harry can’t catch his eye and try to begin a conversation because Cooper thinks that if he starts talking he’ll say something that he will regret later. He sits tensely, waiting for an assault under the guise of some well-meaning gentle verbal cue or side glance. It doesn’t come. The beer grows warmer and flatter each time Cooper takes a sip, and somewhere between a full and half glass he begins to relax. The music isn’t so sappy anymore, and the audience at the Roadhouse is actually quite respectful, talking in low voices punctuated by the occasional bout of laughter. The more he thinks about it, the atmosphere is quite charming. It’s a good place to wind down. The carbonation fills his stomach with a fuzzy contentedness and he can almost see the old Cooper again, small bubbles of him rising in his consciousness.

They sit in companionable silence for over an hour. There’s a table between them but Cooper eventually realizes there’s no distance at all, that he and Harry are sitting side by side, sharing a long embrace. It’s warm and cozy, and even the pilfered coin in his pant pocket seems can’t bring him any grief. He thinks time is in a backward flux, that he and Harry are just simple single-celled creatures wading in a pool of brackish water, freed from all the constraints of consciousness. Maybe they’ve regressed all the way back to before the universe exploded into separateness, are back at that state where there is no differentiation, breathing and living as a single cosmic organism.

When Julee steps off stage Harry finally yawns and stretches, finally looking over. 

“How’re you doing?” Except they’re one, and he already knows. Cooper answers him anyway.

“Fantastic Harry. Simply fantastic.”

“Diane, how do you know when you’re in love?” Cooper should know, knows that he felt something similar once before, but this is complicated. He and Harry have become an extension of one another, connected on some wavelength and the thought is alarming. While Cooper doesn’t believe in soul mates he has fantasized about finding that connection, the one where you know that each breath you exhale is inhaled by the other person, the paradoxical physical embodiment that reminds you that you are never truly alone. The problem is that he had assumed this person would be a woman. He has certainly found men sexually attractive and feels no shame for it. If he and Harry had met in more favourable circumstances Cooper knows he wouldn’t have compartmentalized his attraction towards him. However he has never found men romantically appealing and the only emotional attachment he feels towards them, even the handsome ones, is the bond of brotherhood. He isn’t sure if that romantic spark exists between Harry and him, if it even could, yet the idea of chasing romantic thrills with other people while relegating what they share to the sidelines is unappealing.

“Harry, what is romance?” He finally asks over breakfast. 

“You buy the woman flowers, dinner, change her flat tire, and hopefully she likes you and is willing to have sex with you.” Harry has become a lot less hesitant in his responses, saying the first thing that comes into his mind instead of searching for the right words. Cooper wishes that he had thought a little harder this time.

“Those are the _expressions_ of romance. But what is true romance? And why do we always frame the concept as something that men do and women receive? What does Josie do to romance you?” Perhaps Cooper should have thought a little harder because Harry’s face falters. He partially regrets his words but he mostly wants to dig into the wound, remind Harry that he never gets to spend the night, that Josie has him sneaking around to see her like a teenage boy, that every moment he spends with her seems to take him one step closer to his grave. “What does romance look like to men? Is it different to women? Is there some commonality to be found, or are they completely separate experiences?” Cooper’s frustration is palpable, and he doesn’t understand why he’s so upset. Lately there seems to be a lot that he doesn’t understand. Harry takes a bite of egg and looks off to the side, contemplating. 

“I think it is different for men.” He finally says, taking a swig of coffee. “For us, I think romance just looks like being accepted. When you love someone you want to be helpful to them, make their problems go away, and you’re the one she turns to first. She sees all your flaws and still chooses you, because those flaws don’t matter to her. She doesn’t bat your hand away when you touch her, doesn’t complain when you buy her tulips instead of roses. You give and she accepts.” Uncharacteristically Cooper chews on the inside of his cheek. He’s angry, feels that Harry has completely missed the point of what he’s talking about, except that he’s side-stepping the conversation and can’t blame anyone but himself. 

“What about gay men and lesbians then? If men are givers and women are receivers how do they ever fall in love?” He feels a little flayed open, a little too exposed, and he thinks if Harry doesn’t give him the right answer he might just burst into flame. Harry holds his hands open in a sign of peace.

“I think I misspoke. Maybe it isn’t that different. I don’t know what romance looks like if you’re gay or a woman, but I think the end result is the same no matter who you’re with. You want someone to love and someone who will love in return. ‘Romance’ is just those little steps you take to give yourself away, piece by piece. First we’re on our best behaviour and so we give the good parts, the parts that we want others to see in us – that’s romance. But eventually that runs out and all we have left to give is the bad parts – the parts we’re ashamed of, that we don’t want others to see. When the other person doesn’t run away, that’s love. So you give bits away and hope that someone is collecting the pieces at the other end, that you’ll wind up whole on the other side of it.”

Cooper suddenly feels ill, like he might vomit every meal that he’s had since he arrived in Twin Peaks on the table and his entrails will splash the dining room in violent shades of red. For the first time in his life he realizes that he doesn’t want the right answer – he wants some platitude that would reinforce a foregone conclusion that he had started with, even though he’s not sure what that foregone conclusion was. He feels that he has been betrayed – by Harry, by his own mind, by the whole goddamn town, seducing him into whatever cluster fuck this is. He curls his fingers into his palm, chews his cheek like a ravenous beaver, hoping he can draw blood somewhere, leech out whatever poison has infected him.

“Coop, are you OK?” Harry’s eyes are warm, concerned.

“No Harry. I’m not.” Abruptly he shoves himself away from the table, and Harry’s coffee and eggs become more intimately acquainted. He gets up and walks back to his room. He doesn’t make a tape for Diane.

When Leland is dead and BOB is gone Cooper feels like he can finally breathe. That tightly bound anger that had been collecting inside of him releases and he finds himself missing. For once his mind is quiet and he finds himself having moments where he just stares at for minutes at a time, both acutely aware of the outside world and completely oblivious to it. There is an emptiness to him, a sort of ego death, that makes him feel like an echo chamber for some force greater than himself. Freed from his own willful self-centeredness Cooper finds the way forward seems clear, as if he’s simply floating down stream to join the greater river that awaits.

When he walks into the sheriff’s office he has a general idea of what he is going to say but he hasn’t been able to find the exact words, fears that language might hamper his ability to be understood. It’s when Harry gives him the Book House Boys badge and looks at him so tenderly that he sees the Cooper that has been waiting for this, that knows exactly how to get the message across.

“Harry, I’m going to tell you something, and I don’t want you to talk until I’m done.” Cooper announces. Harry smiles and sits down on the edge of his desk, looking up expectantly. Cooper takes a deep breath and watches himself in Harry’s eyes.

“I love you. I didn’t know it until you gave me that inspired speech about romance and love at the Great Northern, but I’ve been giving you pieces of myself since I got here. And you’ve been giving me pieces of yourself as well. And I want more of you, and I want to keep myself whole and together, and the only way I can have those things is if you’re willing to admit that you love me too. Now, like you said, I don’t know what the expression of romance between two men looks like, but we’re past that, blew past it somewhere between birch trees and Julee Cruise. If you want flowers and dinner I am happy to give you that but I need you to keep giving me yourself in return, all the good and bad, because right now I am a misshapen mish-mash of two people and when I leave here today I’m not going to be able to take those pieces back from you. I don’t know where this will go, and I don’t know how we’d even be in a relationship with my line of work, and to be completely honest, I don’t really even know how relationships work in general. But these are things I want to find out with you, and if you’re willing to take the chance, I know we could find out.” Cooper _knows_ that is what he was meant to say, could feel the words flow through him, except something has gone horribly wrong. Harry has drawn into himself again, his face a sickly pale window into his soul. He’s confused, scared, and Cooper knows that he’s right about Harry loving him, doesn’t understand what the problem is.

“You can speak now.”

Harry looks like a lost little boy, his mouth opens and closes like a fish on dry land. He gets up, leaning on the desk for support as he searches for open waters. He plunks down in his chair, staring at the wood grain on his desk and the silence is so loud and never ending and Cooper just wants it to _stop_. He wants to hit Harry, wants to go over and kiss him so hard that he sucks out all the little pieces that Harry has been holding back. Most of all he just wants some sort of resolution to his turmoil.

“Coop.” He says finally, tearing his eyes away from the desk. Harry’s eyes reflect his own broken heartedness, his own emptiness. Cooper wants to tell him that he doesn’t need to be afraid, that he is cradling the half-Harry that he has, that Harry can be whole as long as he just says _yes_. Instead Harry says “Josie… she needs me. I can’t give up on her.”

It shocks Cooper when he realizes that he is wrong. He’d assumed their exchange was equal, piece for piece, and maybe it had been except Harry had also been giving away little parts to Josie who hadn’t been collecting them. Harry is too scattered to make a whole, there’s not enough left to reconstruct him. Maybe if Cooper had gotten there first, if Laura had been murdered in January instead of February, he would have received those pieces instead, would have commanded Harry’s loyalty. But he was too fucking late. He wants to be bitter, to be able to taste that sweet indignation, but instead he is just wrong. So incredibly wrong about absolutely everything. Time can only go in one direction, the illusion of connectedness is just the yearning of the lonely soul, and he was never the missing piece of this town – just another casualty of its cruelty. Cooper isn’t angry, he isn’t even sad. He is just profoundly, bone-achingly empty.

“Alright.” He purses his lips and nods. The movement seems impossibly large, like his head is a one tonne weight balancing on a toothpick. “I’ve enjoyed working with you Harry. Take care.” He walks out of Harry’s office, every joint aching with the effort, too weary to acknowledge the goodbyes that follow him down the hallway. He just wants to hit the road and forget that he had ever been so humiliatingly naive.


	2. Chapter One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like adding a lot of tags to my fics, so I've kept the tagging minimal. I'm putting trigger warnings at the end of each chapter, so if you're worried about that, click on the 'See End of Work For More Notes' below.
> 
> I've changed around the series of events that happen after the mill fire to fit my story, so if it gets confusing or I don't explain it well, my apologies.

Four hours into his six hour drive to SeaTac, Cooper thinks he has almost come to grips with his time in Twin Peaks. Rationalized that a house with a bad foundation needed to be torn down and rebuilt, that out of the ashes the phoenix rises, fed himself enough meaningless platitudes that he almost feels grateful for the experience of being annihilated on every level. He thinks about skipping the Lamplighter Inn - he has a plane to catch, a life to get back to. Except that he really doesn’t, and some things in life (like cherry pie) are so sacred that they don’t need to be sacrificed in the name of rebirth. So even though he’s not hungry he keeps his eyes open for the sign, pulling off the highway when it enthusiastically invites him in.

“Are you Mr. Cooper?” The waitress, buoyed with an earnestness only the young have, spots him as soon as he walks in the door. His stomach freezes.

“Yes. I assume a man named Gordon asked me to call when I got in?” The brunette smiles and nods.

“He said you’d be easy to pick out, and he was right.”

“Thank you.”

He finds a pay phone outside and, somewhere between finding the correct change for a long distance call and dialing the numbers, vows to be a little less explicit with Diane in the future.

“HELLO?”

“GORDON, IT’S ME, COOPER.”

“COOPER! SO GLAD WE CAUGHT YOU BEFORE YOU GOT ON THE PLANE. LISTEN, SOMETHING TERRIBLE HAS HAPPENED IN TWIN PEAKS AND THEY NEED YOU BACK THERE AYE-ESSS-AYE-PEE. I DON’T WANT TO GET INTO THE DETAILS ON AN UNSECURED LINE BUT THIS IS BAD COOP. REAL BAD.” Cooper knew this was coming, could feel the inevitability of it, but still has to swallow around the bitterness a couple of times before it sinks down his throat.

“HELLO? COOPER, ARE YOU STILL THERE?” He thinks about hanging up, about going to SeaTac and just boarding the next plane out of the state, or just heading south until someone asks for his passport. The sun is setting and he feels claustrophobic, knows that even if he made it back to Philadelphia it wouldn’t be far enough from Twin Peaks.

“TELL THE SHERIFF I’LL BE THERE AT 11AM TOMORROW.”

“VERY GOOD COOP. I’LL PASS THAT ON.”

Cooper books himself a room at the Lamplighter Inn and just flops onto the bed, laying comatose. He doesn’t trust himself to leave the room, tries not to think of Mexico with its sunny beaches and low cost of living. He thinks he made a mistake, buying himself an extra night to stew. Harry had told him that sometimes he thought too much, and sometimes Harry was right. He also feels a twinge of guilt for being irritated with Diane. If he hadn’t stopped at the Lamplighter they would have caught him at the airport anyway.

“Diane.” He begins. “It is currently 1:30am March 18th. I apologise for the briefness of my reports as of late. Every agent has a case that changes him in a profound way and Twin Peaks was mine. Gordon, as you know, has called me back there. He didn’t say much on the phone, so I’m not entirely sure what I’m getting into. At least, not in terms of the case. What I do know is that Twin Peaks is a soul-sucking succubus with beautiful trees that lure people to their death. I don’t know if I’m going to make it out a second time, Diane. It sounds melodramatic but it’s true. I experienced a sort of soul death in that town and I think it has called me back to take the rest of me.” He pauses. “Maybe I should have told Gordon no, that I need a vacation. He’s very good to me Diane. I know he would have granted me leave, no questions asked. But when it comes down to it, being an FBI agent is really all I have. I suppose I could have taken a vacation. As you know I’d love to visit Tibet. At least, this was a former goal of mine. The idea holds considerably less appeal now. Perhaps when they have finally won their independence.” He sighs. “It’s getting late. I need to be up early tomorrow. Goodnight Diane.” He turns off the recorder and tries to sleep. Instead he just lays there, trying not to think of Harry, hoping that Harry is trying not to think of him too.

Four hours.

He had escaped Twin Peaks for four. fucking. hours. 

_“I don’t want to go to school.” Ten-year old Cooper is whining. His mother tuts and carefully spreads the .22 shells on his sandwich._

_“But your friends are all there. They’ll miss you if you don’t go.” His mother is right and after she puts the sandwich and sodium cyanide in his lunch box he heads out the door._

_“Josie!”_

_When he arrives at school Lucy greets him cheerfully. Cooper notices with jealousy that her skirt is much cuter than his is, with little pine weasels frolicking across the hem. They join arms and skip up the steps. When they get into the main hall they are the only ones there._

_“Where is Harry?” he asks. Lucy looks at him with a sadness too deeply etched for her age._

_“Harry got sent to Vietnam and was blowed up. His pieces got sent home in a body bag.” Cooper already knew this but had forgotten. He’s happy that he will get Harry’s slice of cherry pie at lunch. He’s sad that there is a bird hopping down the hall, trying to take flight and failing. But then Andy, adult Andy, emerges from a locker and is running down the hall._

_“My baby!” He cries at the bird and keeps trying to catch it but he can’t. “Lucy, you’re a terrible mother!”_

_“I know.”_

_Then Catherine Martell appears and with a disapproving frown tells them they’re late. She ushers them into class where Fermat’s equation is on the board. It’s their test for today, and they can’t leave until they solve it. Cooper doesn’t know what any of the symbols mean, but one of Lucy’s pine weasels slips off of her skirt to come and help him. Except it starts eating Cooper’s test, and no matter what he does he can’t stop it. Catherine walks over to him and looks at the gnawing pine weasel with pity._

_“It’s OK.” She says reassuringly. “You can try again tomorrow.” Cooper knows he won’t be there tomorrow. He’s going to Nirvana and wants to bring his autograph book for the Buddha to sign._

_“I have a message from the principal.” Audrey announces, leaning against the doorframe. “The Dalai Lama hasn’t signed your permission slips. Samsara will be in effect for eternity. Enjoy your dukkha!” Cooper sighs. The Dalai Lama never lets him do anything fun. He takes out his compact mirror and lipstick from his backpack. Josie’s face stares back at him as he begins painting his lips._

_“You should be happy.” Josie’s reflection tells him. “You can’t have cherry pie in Nirvana. That’s shenanigans. Also, you need to fill in the bottom a bit more.”_

The drive back seems like an endless march. The Colville Forest tries to trick him again, sending that familiar woodsy calming agent through the car vents. He refuses to give in. Even though it’s only 54 degrees Cooper turns on the air conditioning, the filters killing more of the pine scent every time the air recirculates. He makes the trip on four hours of sleep and three cups of coffee, pulling over to pee a couple of times. When he sees the welcoming signs of Twin Peaks he thinks that the woods have warped time again, he’s arrived too early and he should still be on the road. 

By the time he pulls up at the police station, 11am sharp, he has decided that he will be professionally curt with Harry. There’s really nothing else to do. They can’t go back to the way they were before because Cooper can’t go back to being the man he was. Harry will be fine – he has Hawk, Andy, all the strings of small town living tying him down. Cooper thinks that perhaps in this sense he is luckier than Harry – he has no obligations to others, no expectations to dash. Cooper may lack the grounding but he’s free to become whatever he pleases. Right now he wants to be a surgeon - come in, solve the problem, get out before a hemorrhage starts. He can do this. It’s his job.

When he pushes through the double doors everyone is in the lobby. Deputies are buzzing to and fro, phones are ringing in chorus, and the air buzzes with an electric anxiety. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Harry running a hand through his hair as he talks on the phone. Cooper feels a pang of longing, has to avert his gaze so his chest doesn’t burn.

“Special Agent Cooper!” Lucy’s eyes shine with affection as she comes out to greet him. “Oh, Agent Cooper, thank God you’re here. It’s bad. So bad.” She hugs him as though she might float off if she doesn’t hold on. Cooper doesn’t like the implication, but all the same he hugs her back and thinks he smells Douglas Fir.

“I’m sure I’ve handled worse Lucy.” 

“OK, thanks.” As they break he can hear Harry hanging up the phone. Cooper stands a little straighter as Harry walks over and nods at him in acknowledgment. “Cooper, thank God you’re here.” Despite the dark circles under his eyes he looks genuinely relieved. Harry lacks any discomfort or self-consciousness, doesn’t seem to understand that everything has changed. It irks Cooper, makes him feel smaller than his six feet. “It’s bad, Coop. Really bad.” Harry puts a hand on his shoulder to guide him but Cooper sidesteps it, avoiding Harry’s gaze.

“So everyone keeps telling me.” He feels like every eye is glued to him as he heads to the conference room, but knows it’s probably just Harry and a pitying stare from the man Cooper used to be.

When he steps inside he can suddenly appreciate Harry’s lack of sentimental emotion. The room is filled to the brim, walls decorated with pictures and evidence bags sprawling the length of the conference table. The air has an aftertaste of char and the bags are filled with unrecognizable burnt debris. Cooper lets out a low whistle, looking around as the others file in.

“Alright, what have we got?” He asks, taking time to remove his jacket. When Harry is seated he sits a couple of chairs away from him, creating just enough distance to hopefully not look suspiciously unfriendly. The way Harry tracks him tells Cooper that he’s noticed. After all, Cooper never removes his jacket.

“What were you told?” Harry asks, ankle on his knee as his fingers unconsciously worry at his hangnails.

“Nothing. Just that it’s ‘really bad’.” Cooper doesn’t mean for his words to come out so mockingly, and he swallows as Harry sighs and glances at the pictures for inspiration.

“I guess we’ll start at the beginning. So the mill burned down a couple of days ago. The insurance company sent out an inspector yesterday and he found the remains of someone.” Harry gestures to a picture at the front of the room showing a grizzly photo of a burnt body. The figure is almost unrecognizable as human, shriveled in alternating patterns of raw and blackened flesh and eggshell white bone.

“Do we know who it is?”

“No. But that’s the least of it.” Harry sighs. “The inspector called us to take over the investigation after that. We searched a wider area and about 50 feet away from the body we came across a trap door in the floor, locked from the top. We opened it up and he found more bodies. Twelve Asian women, seven who had died and five who were unconscious. They were all in bad shape – emaciated, dirty, suffering from smoke inhalation.” Cooper hears Andy weeping softly in the corner, and Harry shoots him a tired glance, at once compassionate and irritated. “All the women were sent to Providence Hospital in Spokane – the living ones due to lack of resources, and the deceased due to lack of space in the morgue. I spoke to the doctor just now, he said no one has regained consciousness.” The pictures of all twelve are in two neat rows to Cooper’s left. He can’t tell which ones are in the morgue and which ones made it to ICU.

“Has Albert been notified?” Cooper asks. Harry nods.

“He’s driving in from Seattle right now. He estimates it will take his team three days to complete all of the autopsies.”

“Where is Josie?” Cooper asks and, to his credit, Harry doesn’t outwardly flinch.

“Still unreachable. Catherine’s still missing as well.”

“Does anyone think the remains are hers?”

“No. The individual was too tall.”

“Anything interesting in evidence?”

“Not that we know of yet.” Hawk responds. “We just picked up the items in the pit with the girls. Mostly shreds of clothing, blankets and the like. The inspector had us bag some evidence for an arson charge. He thinks the fire was deliberate. Albert told us to send it to the labs.” Cooper frowns.

“I’ll need to see the scene first.”

“We also need to interview the inspector. He said he’d stick around until you got here. Do you want to interview him here or at the scene?” Harry asks.

“At the scene.” Harry nods and reaches over to the intercom.

“Lucy, could you call Mr. Pearson and tell him that a deputy will be there in 20 minutes to escort him to the site for his interview?”

“Right away Sheriff.” Harry rises as everyone else follows suit. Cooper grabs his jacket and begins buttoning it up, finds the exercise cumbersome. He’s going to have to find a different strategy to avoid Harry in the future.

“Hawk, I’m going to let you go and get him. Andy, I’ll get you to cover the station while we’re away. Radio me if there’s anything you can’t handle.” Harry looks pointedly at Andy, who still has his hand over his mouth and his eyes screwed shut. Andy nods.

“Cooper, you’re with me.”

“I’ll take my own car.” Cooper snipes, a bit too quickly. Harry’s face twitches in irritation and Cooper can feel Hawk’s steady gaze flitting between the two of them.

“You can’t get there in a sedan. You have to take the access road and it’s not well maintained. At this time of the year, it’s a muddy mess.”

“Well then.” Cooper lips twitch in a shark-like imitation of a smile. “I guess it’s you and me.” Harry nods, gives him a dark look which Cooper doesn’t meet.

“Gentlemen.” After a beat Harry nods towards the door and they file out. Cooper can feel Harry at his back and wonders how slowly time will be able to stretch in a car ride of a few miles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS
> 
> Discussion of deceased female victims, discussion of women being held captive.
> 
> As always, thoughts and comments appreciated!


	3. Chapter Two

Both men are silent when they get in the Bronco and start off towards the mill. Harry occasionally glances over while Cooper maintains a line of sight out of the window. He had been angry in the conference room, angry when they got in the car, but in their quiet bubble he feels that bone-seeping emptiness come back in. He’s just _tired_ in a way that being up for three days straight couldn’t even begin to touch.

He feels Harry becoming more anxious as time elapses and a bittersweet bubble rises up in his chest. He wants to go back to the time where they had sat in companionable silence, back to when they could console each other with a touch. Instead he sits in the passenger’s seat like a petulant girlfriend waiting for Harry to break the silence. It isn’t intentional. Cooper just has nothing to give now, can’t do anything except try to keep his weariness to himself. Harry plays his role anyway. 

“You look tired.” Cooper snorts, rests his arm against the window and lays his forehead in his palm.

“You look worse. I’m not sure you should be the one driving.” Harry breathes a little bit more deeply and steadily.

“Ever driven a four wheel drive?” Cooper shakes his head. “It’s pretty simple actually. The Bronco has four-wheel high and four-wheel low. When you’re going down a muddy road like this you choose ‘low’. That’s going to give you more torque, which translates to more traction. To engage it you’ve gotta be stopped, and then you shift it into gear. Start off slow, make sure that the gear is engaged. It drives a bit different, so you’ll know. But you can’t go over twenty, so before you hit pavement you’ve gotta disengage it.” Cooper wants to laugh. Harry’s nervous babbling is charming, and if Cooper even vaguely resembled the man he was before he’d ask leading questions, learn all that Harry could teach about the mysteries of transfer cases and axles. But he’s not, and the memory of that man is bittersweet as well.

“Harry.” Cooper still can’t look at him, keeps his eyes on the road. “I need to know that I can trust you on this case.” Harry’s nervousness subsides and the tension is worse than before.

“I didn’t think you’d ever have to question that.” He replies, accented with a touch of bitterness. Cooper just rubs his eyes tiredly.

“I’m serious. We know where this is going. A dozen Asian women locked in a dugout in the mill? Josie, the person person with strong connections to Hong Kong and owner of said mill? Your girlfriend is involved in trafficking and when she inevitably comes crying to you about how she was set-up, I don’t want you to start making plans involving flights to countries without extradition agreements.” There’s a moment of silence and Cooper tries to steady himself.

“Ben Horne could have Hong Kong connections.” Cooper snaps, finally looks at Harry.

“That’s the kind of bullshit I’m talking about. We’re not sending her to the bottom of the suspect list because Benjamin Horne _might_ have done business with someone in Southeast Asia once. Eight young women are _dead_ , and the body count might rise if those other girls don’t make it through. I’m not going to have you sabotage my investigation, Truman.”

“Look, I know Cooper.” Harry doesn’t sound angry, just tired. “I agree, most of the signs lead to Josie. I haven’t slept since we got the call yesterday and I’ve been running it around in my mind over and over. The thing I don’t get is that trafficking is expensive. If the point was to take their money and kill them off, then why kill them in the US where someone is probably going to notice thirteen burned bodies? Why not, I don’t know, sink a ship in international waters or something? If they made it here just to be trapped in a hole then they have to have been destined for a prostitution ring or something. Which means there must have been buyers lined up. Why go to all the expense of getting them here just to kill them and lose out on that money? One-Eyed Jack’s is a likely customer, which means Ben Horne is involved. But Josie was worried that Catherine and Ben wanted to torch the mill and it doesn’t make sense that he’d literally burn his investment. And it can’t be that he’s the only buyer, because then it would have made more sense to just ship them into Canada. Then there’s Catherine’s disappearance – if she died in the fire we’d have found her by now, so either she was killed elsewhere or she’s on the run. But from who? Josie, Ben, someone else? It doesn’t make sense to me, and I was hoping that you’d be able to shed some light on it. Because you’re more experienced and smarter and I’m just really happy to have you back.” The words are so unabashedly _Harry_ that Cooper can’t help the pure, unsullied affection burning in his chest. He knows that it had cost Harry a lot to say them, to stay calm in the face of his accusation even when he hasn’t slept in over a day and tensions are high. Because he just gives and gives until he’s raw and empty, and a sickly melange of competing emotion washes over Cooper. Why can’t Harry just give him a little more?

“It may be that someone panicked when I came into town.” Cooper replies, trying to derail his self-pity. “Torched the goods, hoped no one would notice. The fire fighters probably came too early, didn’t give it enough time to spread. That’s probably why Leo left town. He knew we’d suspect him as part of the trafficking ring.” 

“Leo and Shelly still haven’t come back.” Harry says.

“Where did Norma say they were ‘vacationing’ again?” Cooper asks. “Somewhere in Montana?”

“Whitefish. Haven’t heard anything back from state police. They’re supposed to be back tomorrow.”

“They’re not in Whitefish.” Cooper can tell through the silence that Harry knows.

When they get to the mill there’s a moment after Harry turns off the ignition that both men just sit in the Bronco. The mill itself looms like some sort of misshapen creature threatening to collapse in on itself. Cooper has never been involved in a trafficking case before. His wheelhouse is homicide and while he supposes the nuts and bolts of the investigation are largely the same he’s not sure if he is the right man for the job. Something about the scale of it frightens him – thirteen women seems too large for this tiny town, too overwhelming to comprehend. Except Harry believes in him, and Gordon must as well or else he would have assigned someone else to the case. He tells himself the task at hand is the one he always faces – sifting through the ashes of human depravity to make sense of the clues left behind.

“Alright Harry. Lead the way.”

Harry takes him to the epicenter of the damage. The wall is a collection of blackened stumps that have been eaten away by fire so they simply step into the southern end of the mill. It’s a desolate, blackened landscape and the floor boards crunch under their weight. Cooper can see the underlayment in various spots, melted into a gooey blue mess. A few hundred feet away machinery, once separated from them by a wall, is covered in ash, warped and oxidized from the fire.

“There.” Harry points to their left where a support beam has crashed into the floor. “That’s where they found the charred body.” Cooper raises an eyebrow.

“The body would have been very exposed. How did the firefighting crew not notice it? How did Pete not notice it?”

“They were in a rush. We weren’t the only fire that night. Plus the body had shrunk and blackened, it was camouflaged. As for Pete, he didn’t get very far in before collapsing.” Taking a latex glove out of his pocket Cooper approaches the scene, crouching down so he can sift through the char. A few minutes pass before he finds something.

“Take a look at this.” He stands up and Harry comes over.

“Earrings.” Harry murmurs. They’re bubbled bits of plastic bunched up over a hook, bits of debris embedded in them. Between the melting and the ash it’s hard to make out, but they look like they were once blue.

“We need bags.” Cooper commands, and Harry obediently trucks back to the Bronco. The rest of Cooper’s search reveals nothing, but considering the circumstances it’s not a terrible outcome. 

“Where were the rest of the girls found?” Harry takes him further in to the wreckage and they come to a square trap door about three by three feet. The lock has been drilled out but when Cooper tries to open the door he can barely lift it.

“They soundproofed the door with some sort of composite. Here.” With Harry’s help they manage to yank it open.

The stench is so overwhelming that Cooper has to take a step back. It’s a melange of sweat, urine, feces, blood, decaying flesh and smoke. It smells like pure terror. Harry looks queasy but there’s something familiar, almost homey in the scent for Cooper. He feels lightheaded, almost giddy giddy with a sort of infatuation. There’s something wrong, except everything is wrong and trying to pick this particular needle out of the haystack is an exercise in futility.

“Stay up there in case I need some help getting out.” Harry doesn’t argue as Cooper descends the rickety ladder. The dug out is only six feet high and Cooper has to stoop so that he doesn’t hit the ceiling. The stench is even worse, mixed with earthy undertones, and Cooper’s heart races, he thinks he might pass out.

“Cooper. Catch.” Cooper turns around and Harry tosses him a small container. Vick’s Vapor Rub. He hurried opens it and smears a good amount on his upper lip. The smell of peppermint doesn’t completely erase the odour, but it makes Cooper feel a little more grounded.

“Thanks.” He calls back up before continuing his hunt. The room is small, too small to hold a dozen people comfortably. The photos had been labeled with the dimensions - sixteen feet by ten. There’s a bucket in the corner, overflowing with human waste. The dirt walls have been scratched at, and Cooper remembers seeing a fingernail in an evidence bag. A few insects crawl around and a worm pushes its way back into the ground. Cooper finds nothing new, the area has been well-searched. He’s just coming up when he hears the crunch of footsteps approaching.

“Thank you for coming Mr. Pearson.” Harry greets Hawk and their guest.

“Not a problem.” Cooper emerges and gives a nod to the two newcomers, stripping his hands of the plastic gloves and shoving them into the growing collection in his pocket.

“Mr. Pearson, Agent Cooper, FBI.” They shake hands. Pearson is a short, stout man with a serious demeanor. He reminds Cooper vaguely of a darker Pete Martell. “What are your thoughts?” Cooper leads the posse back over to the spot where the initial body was found.

“Initially I thought it was insurance fraud.” Pearson admits. “But then I found the body, and now I think it the primary motive was homicide. Accelerant was used, probably gasoline. You can tell by the pattern of the burn – areas that wouldn’t be touched by a natural flame are burned to crisps. It also looks like there was a timing device used to set the blaze. I found the remnants of some wiring and gears over there.” He points a few feet away. “It’s a little sophisticated for just some desperate person trying to collect insurance money, but not enough for a professional arsonist. They would have covered their tracks better, made sure the incendiary device was consumed by the fire. If burning down the sawmill was the goal, it wasn’t done very well. You want to choose a day that’s very windy, where the fire will spread very quickly, but according to reports it was very calm that night. You’d also expect to see a greater spray pattern for the accelerant but it looks like only this specific area was doused.” Cooper nods.

“And I assume the blaze started here?”

“Yes.” Pearson agrees, pointing a stubby finger at the same spot. “The timer sent off an electrical charge to ignite the accelerant.” He traces a path back to the fallen beam. “The accelerant itself was concentrated here, where I found the deceased. I’m not sure if you’ve done an autopsy on her yet, but my guess is that she was the ignition point.” Cooper frowns.

“Are you saying that the fire was specifically set to kill her?” Pearson nods.

“I found her with her shoulders and arms bent back, like she was tied to something when she died.” Pearson presses his wrists behind his back in a familiar mimicry. “Of course, whatever restraints were used, probably rope, burned away and she got suck like that. Initially I looked right at ‘er and didn’t even see her. She was so badly burned I thought she was just a post.” Cooper looks at the spot, pursing his lips. This complicates the narrative.

“Was there any accelerant used on the trap door?” He asks. Pearson looks confused.

“Trap door? I didn’t find a trap door.” Hawk clears his throat.

“That was discovered when you called us in.”

“What trap door?”

“The Sheriff’s Department found a trap door about a hundred feet into the building. Led to an dugout. It was housing twelve women, most of whom are now dead.” Pearson looks stunned, his hand is shaking as he points in the general direction of the pit.

“You mean while I was out here yesterday there were just some poor ladies just a few yards over, dyin’ while I was poking around?”

“That appears to be the case.” Cooper confirms. Pearson looks sick.

“Thank you for your time Mr. Pearson. Do you have a card in case I have any further questions?” Pearson hasn’t stopped shaking, fumbles with his wallet before handing Cooper his card.

“I have a daughter you know. She’s fourteen, getting to that age where they don’t want to tell you nothing, you’re not entirely sure where she is, who she’s with or what she’s doing all the time. It’s a dangerous world out there for women.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Cooper replies. “Hawk, I know you guys have been up since yesterday. Why don’t you take Mr. Pearson back to the Great Northern and go get some shut eye?”

“Nah, I’m OK. Got sent home for a few hours last night. This one hasn’t been off the clock though.” Hawk nudges in the direction of Harry, who is leaning against the Bronco with his eyes closed and mouth slightly agape. Cooper nods.

“OK, I’ll remedy that. If you really don’t need it, I’ll see you back at the station.” Hawk nods and ushers Mr. Pearson back into the twin Bronco. Cooper just gives himself a moment to drink Harry in, tracing the sharp lines of his body and the soft curls beneath his stetson. His face is unguarded and Cooper yearns to go over and stroke his jaw. He thinks Harry would open his eyes, and there would be a moment of sleepy dissonance where Harry would lack his usual self-consciousness, would just gaze heatedly until Cooper closed the distance between their lips...

“OK Harry. I’m driving us back. Give me the keys.” Cooper announces loudly. Harry startles and almost falls over.

“But you don’t know how to drive it.” He protests.

“Due to your instruction earlier in the day, I can manage. It seems less complicated than driving a stick, and I know how to do that.” Harry can’t argue and tosses him the keys before climbing into the passenger’s side. Cooper has to adjust the driver’s seat – Harry has longer legs while Cooper is more torso.

“Have you searched the residences of either Catherine or Josie yet?” He asks. Harry shakes his head, which is bowed low to his chest.

“Was waiting for you. Filed warrants, but I’m pretty sure Pete will let us in whenever.” Cooper nods. Good.

“Do you think Catherine and Josie could be working together?” Harry shakes his head again.

“They hated each other. Couldn’t make a cup of coffee if they had to collaborate.” Cooper isn’t so sure about that. He has found that often the most volatile bonds are between partners in crime, people who wouldn’t normally mix but are thrown together for the sake of some greater evil.

“I just don’t get it.” Cooper thought Harry had drifted off but he was wrong. “My father always taught that as a man it was your job to protect those weaker than you – women, children, the elderly, the infirm. Maybe that’s sexist nowadays, but it still bothers me when I see the domestic violence, the rape, whatever the hell this is. It just seems so… unnatural.” Cooper wants to point out that the perps are likely women but knows that would be purposely missing the point. Law enforcement agents, the good ones anyway, usually have an overblown need to protect, some masculine instinct gone into overdrive. He’s seen the inability to save the world ruin plenty of good men, hopes that Harry won’t be one of them. Cooper wants to say something reassuring but he hasn’t picked up any new philosophies that might be useful, so he just sidesteps the topic.

“When we get you home I’ll give you a benzo.” Cooper has a feeling Harry is going to find it hard to sleep, and if he gets there the dreams will be intolerable.

“Aren’t we going to the station?” Harry looks a little more alert now. “We have to talk to Pete, search the house. There’s a million things we need to do.”

“ _I’m_ going to the station. _You’re_ going home for some sleep. You’ve done more than enough for one day. Mostly we’re going to be waiting to see if one of the girls wakes up, waiting to see if the bureau can get an ID on any of them, waiting for Albert and Will to present their autopsy reports. You can sleep while waiting just as easily as you can do anything else. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.” He promises.

“But what if something big happens while I’m asleep?”

“Then I’ll come and pick you up. I won’t let anything too exciting happen without you.” Harry just nods.

“If you’re sure.”

When they come to the paved road, Cooper slips back into forward drive without a hitch and Harry snores softly.


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays to anyone who happens to be wandering around this section of AO3!
> 
> Please see end of chapter notes for additional warnings.

True to Cooper’s word, the rest of the day is deathly boring. The amount of paperwork is endless – between sending out A.P.Bs, flagging passports, credit and bank monitoring requests and calls with the Canadian Border Services and surrounding counties it’s dark before Cooper even has a chance to look at what has come in through fax. Providence has sent over their evaluation of the living victims but there’s nothing in the report that is unexpected. On the bright side, Judge Sternwood has rubber stamped the warrants for the Martell and Packard properties and Lucy sets up an interview with Pete before she leaves. Most importantly he sends pictures of the women to both home office and the CIA to see if there’s a chance in hell they can be identified. When he also completes an information request for Josie its stirs up a bitter feeling. He should have done this long ago, would have if anyone but Harry had vouched for her.

Around eight Albert makes a brief call from Spokane to let Cooper know he has arrived, and apparently the workload is so great that he doesn’t even have time to be his usual acrid self. Cooper thinks that maybe he’s inherited Albert’s disposition when, after stapling his tie to a file, he calls the stapler a ‘rat trap son of a bitch’ and hurls it across the empty conference room. When he takes a couple of deep breaths and still doesn’t find any calm, he knows it’s time to return to the Great Northern.

Audrey is at the front desk, busy in her own paperwork, and he takes a moment to observe her. As always her hair is perfectly coiffed and she’s immaculately dressed, her blazer and skirt curving exquisitely around the contours of her body. She’s comforting in the way that a familiar, attractive woman can be, and the memory of finding her in his bed comes unbidden and can’t be shaken. Flashes of an experience never lived take center stage in his mind's eye. They're almost palpable, breathing things that crawl through his brain and refuse to be left unattended. Cooper takes the fingertips of his right hand and tries to drive them through his left palm. When they meet the resistance of flesh and bone he only feels a slight reassurance.

“Hello Ms. Horne.” She looks up from her papers with a hint of annoyance, but quickly breaks out into an amazed smile.

“Special Agent Cooper!” She says breathlessly, eyes wide and shining. “I thought you were gone.” It’s the kind of reception that would flatter anyone’s ego and he isn’t immune. Mostly though, Cooper sees that edge between girl and woman surrounding her like an aura, eyes drawn to the empty space where time intervenes and the transition occurs.

“I was. Now I’m not.” He says. She looks him for a moment, an amateur attempt at decryption, then a low smile inches across her face.

“Have you come back for... anything in particular?” Her voice is coy, filled with subtext that Cooper knows he should dispel. He can’t.

“I have my reasons.” He’s focused, intense in a way that straddles the line between a challenge and an invitation. He can tell it unnerves and excites her at the same time and he has a sudden vertigo, thinks he’s teetering on some unseen edge. He leans on the desk for support and he can feel Audrey’s minty breath waft across his face.

“Well.” Audrey clears her throat and her hand vibrates slightly as she looks down at her reservation book. “We have your old room available – 315. Will that be acceptable?”

“That will be fine.” He assures her. Their fingers brush as she hands him the key and Audrey’s breath hitches, her lips part in a half-born sigh. Cooper feels light headed, full of energy that his body can’t contain. It’s not arousal per se, but it’s so closely related and yet so unusual that it takes a moment for him to realize what it is.

Power. He feels powerful.

“Do you need any help with your luggage?” Audrey asks hopefully.

“No.” He says, straightening up as he takes a step back. “I’m fine.”

_The mill is dark, the waning moon giving off just enough light to show the crooked creature it has become. Cooper had thought he was alone but knows he was wrong, that his every movement is being tracked. He doesn’t move, hopes that if he’s still The Watcher will pass him over. It doesn’t work._

_The pit looms before him, aching and endless, and his feet begin moving. The trap door opens of its own accord and mice scurry in the wake of the deafening thud. He looks in and finds Leland Palmer, huddled in a corner, rocking back and forth as he sobs quietly. Cooper is angry – angry at Leland for being so weak, so pitiful, so powerless._

_“Be careful.” Laura’s voice is in his ear, her hair tickling his jawline. “You might fall in.” An owl hoots in the distance and Cooper whips his head around to find empty air. The Watcher is still in the distance, waiting._

When Cooper wakes up he feels like he hasn’t slept at all. He goes through his morning routine at a snail’s pace, and even when he’s done he still feels disheveled and unclean. He has to drive to the Sheriff’s Station and switch vehicles before picking up Harry. The man lives in a dwelling too large to be a cabin but too small to be a house that is, of course, down a gravel road. Cooper’s rental sedan would have made it but he doesn’t want to risk scratching the paint. 

When he gets there he intends to go up to the door but Harry steps out before he’s even parked, like he’s been waiting. There’s something pure and homey about how the rising sun lights up his curls, how his breath smokes in the cold air. Cooper’s too tired for how much it hurts and he averts his eyes.

“How did you sleep?” Cooper asks, because it’s the friendly thing to do and because any authentic speech would just ruin the sunrise.

“Good. That pill really helped. I didn’t think you’d be the type to need them.”

“I was told by another agent to get a script just in case. I’ve never actually used one.” Harry’s trying to catch his eye, but Cooper still can’t bring himself to look back, especially now when they’re alone with so much space between them.

“Coop.” Harry says finally. “We should probably talk about-”

“Albert called me last night to let me know he was in Spokane.” Cooper cuts him off loudly with just a little too much edge. “He said that he and his team were pulling an all nighter, the hospital had lent them some techs. We should have some preliminary results, although toxicology will take a few days. I also booked Pete in for an interview at his residence. The warrants have been approved so if he tries to refuse a search of the house we can throw that at him.” He can feel Harry staring but just grips the steering wheel harder.

“OK Cooper.” He says finally, and they’re silent on the rest of the way.

“Sheriff, Agent, Shelly Johnson is missing” is how they’re greeted as they walk into the lobby. Cooper can feel Harry stiffen.

“When did the call come in?”

“Norma reported it, just a few minutes ago. She went to pick Shelly up since they’re supposed to be back from vacation. Said Leo’s cab wasn’t there either.” Hopes dies a hard death for Harry but Cooper is impassive. They knew this was coming, he can’t bring himself to feel upset.

“Is Norma at the diner today?” Cooper asks, knowing it’s a redundant question, but Lucy nods.

“Uh huh. She’ll be there until closing. She said she’ll call in Gretchen instead, that she can use the overtime.” 

“Thank you Lucy.” They walk towards Harry’s office and when they get in Harry collapses in his chair.

“Fuck.” He says, looking morosely out the window. “Fuck fucking fuckity fuck.”

“We’re not positive it’s her.” Cooper tries to be comforting and knows he fails. He’s uneasy in Harry’s office, the memories of his last time here intruding on the present and blurring time. He reaches in his pant pocket for the stolen Liberty Dollar and rubs it, whether to soothe himself or Harry he’s not sure.

“Of course we know it’s her. The whole goddamn town knew he was gonna kill her one day. And what did we do? Nothing.” Harry looks on the verge of violence, colour rising in his neck and hands clenched into fists. Cooper suddenly realizes that he’s not the only man that has left this office bruised and fragmented. He longs to reach out and touch Harry but can’t, because now there’s more than just distance and their corporeal selves between them. So he just keeps worrying at the dollar.

“Harry, we don’t know who the burn victim is, but even if it was Shelly, Leo is an unlikely culprit. The man has issues with emotional regulation – the crime of passion type. The fact that there was a time bomb makes the fire a cold, calculated plan. For all we know, Leo and Shelly are running across the country together right now, evading the law.” It’s a small hope, an inconsistent thread that has been dancing around in his head, but by Harry’s snort he isn’t convinced.

“Even if they’re running across the country together, he’ll kill her eventually. Either she’s currently dead or she’s going to be.” Harry’s anger is profound, resolute. It’s a side that Cooper hasn’t seen before and in a perverse way the moment feels like a privilege.

“Let’s say you’re right and Leo did kill Shelly in that fire. There’s nothing you could have done. She would have had to make the decision herself to leave. You couldn’t do that for her.” Harry clenches and unclenches his fists as he rigidly stares out of the window.

“One time I stopped by the diner right before they closed. It was just Shelly and me, and she had a black eye she was try’n hide with make up. She was upset, and I just chatted to try’n cheer her up. I didn’t come out and say anything, just told her that if she ever needed help she could call. Gave her a card with my personal number on it.” Harry lets out a strangled laugh. “She probably thought I was hittin’ on her, like some creepy old guy. I am so fucking stupid.”

“She knew what you meant.” Cooper is certain because no one would be able to mistake Harry’s sincerity, especially not in a town that knows him so well. A little bit of wind goes out of Harry’s sails and he slumps in his chair.

“Just… why can’t I say what I mean? I should have said ‘Shelly, next time your asshole husband raises a hand to you, you need to call me and file a DV report. We’ll get you out.’ Would that have been so damn hard?” Harry sniffs loudly and sucks his cheeks in.

“Yes, it is damned hard. Most people spend their entire lives trying to rationalize why they are, where they are and who they are. They wind up so buried in half-truths and lies that when you call a spade a spade it makes people uncomfortable. It’s easier to exist in the same illusion than anger them with the truth they’re too afraid to face.” Harry swivels suddenly and his eyes are frustrated yet tender and Cooper can’t look away.

“You’re not afraid.”

Cooper doesn’t have an answer for that.

“Special Agent Cooper, there’s a call for you from Albert Rosenfield.” Lucy pops her head into the interview room where Cooper has been grabbing a moment of calm before the rush of the morning starts..

“Alright Lucy, put it through.” She nods and walks back to her desk, and a few moments later the phone rings.

“Hello Albert.” Cooper reaches for his pen and pad and waits for the bad news.

“Cooper, I’ve been up for almost 24 hours, so I’m gonna be brief, starting with the women found in the dug out. We’ve got three the autopsies done, and they’re all pretty much the same. Track marks, so we’re betting that heroin comes back on the tox report. All suffering from malnutrition and dehydration, there was a significant amount of muscle wastage on all subjects. Most had vaginal and anal bruising and tearing but, assuming it was from sexual intercourse, that didn’t happen in the last few days because there was no DNA evidence. Otherwise lots of bruises and scratches, looks like they got knocked around a lot. Rope burns on all their ankles and wrists, but those wounds had started to either heal or become infected. Tried to test for skin cells under the nails but there was so much dirt it was impossible. Five of the victims died of smoke inhalation but two were dead before the fire hit – dehydration. Your survivors are most likely going to be going through heroin withdrawal if they wake up.” Cooper nods, scribbling frantically. Albert sighs. “Don’t they teach short-hand anymore?” Cooper ignores him.

“That matches with the reports we received from Providence on the survivors. I assume you checked for letters under their ring fingernails?”

“Yes. There was nothing there. There doesn’t appear to be any similarities to the Laura Palmer case.” In the background Cooper hears a faint “Here is your coffee, sir” which goes unanswered. 

“Sufficed to say.” Cooper agrees. “Now, the tearing you mentioned on the genitals – do you have any idea how long ago that might have happened?”

“It was a shitshow downtown on all of them. There’s a lot of tissue which looks like it healed and tore open repeatedly. A very rough estimate would be a week ago but I wouldn’t take the stand on that.”

“Understood. And the rope wounds?” He assumes Albert has spit his coffee into the phone because the connection briefly takes on a muffled tone of falling rain.

“Would it destroy the budget of this sad excuse for a hospital to use actual GROUNDS instead of this instant crap? It’s ridiculous – I don’t want my surgeon operating on me after tasting Satan’s boiled ball sac. Patient mortality would DROP if they got to have actual coffee.”

“I completely agree Albert. The rope wounds?”

“Once again I’m not putting such a fine time line in the report, but I’d say they were roped for a good amount of time – probably a week or two. They look like they’ve had about three weeks of healing. We were able to retrieve fibres from one of the wounds which had an infection. She suffered from cellulitis and some horrific serous drainage. Did a culture swab, we’ll send it with the toxicology report. I’ve sent the fibres to the lab for analysis as well.”

“OK, now onto the charred body. Got an ID yet?”

“No. We’re sending tissue to the lab for testing, but I’m betting she was doused with accelerant so the fire destroyed everything but the basics. Female, aged 16 to 35, about five foot six, give or take a few inches. Unless you found a puddle of grease at the scene I’m going to guess she was on the slender side. I’m going to call the Bureau to send someone to do a facial reconstruction on the skull.”

“I don’t think we need that.” Cooper says quietly, fiddling with his pen. “One of the locals has been reported as missing and she could have disappeared within that time frame. I’m going to see if I can track down some dental records and have them sent to Providence.” Albert snorts.

“I’m going to guess for a town that size you’ll be talking to the barber. Don’t tell me when I’m right.” 

“Is there anything else I should know?”

“On a logistics note, just that Providence wants these bodies out of here A.S.A.P. They’re at capacity in the morgue. If you guys don’t handle this soon they’re going to funeral homes to take these women off their hands as soon as we’re done the autopsies, and they always want money for keeping them cold. On a personal note, I’m going back to my hotel, sleeping, then coming back to this shithole to finish the autopsies and then getting out of this God-forsaken state. I’m serious Cooper, never call me to a place smaller than half a million. I thought ‘Spokane, I actually know where that is on the map, I’m sure the hospital will be adequate’. This is why I’ve learned to stop having hopes and dreams. The guy who was assisting me, I don’t know where-”

“I’m grateful for your help, Albert.” When the man is well-rested he usually manages to be succinct in his vitriol, but Cooper doesn’t have the patience for a sleep-deprived Albert.

“Get outta that town.” He says, and Cooper knows he’s not saying it out of malice. “The place is now beating out Gary, Indiana for being the creepiest shithole in America. When I heard you were recalled there I knew it was going to be for something bad, and on a small town scale, this is horrific. Gordon should have sent you a partner. That place isn’t safe.”

“Your concern is touching, but misplaced Albert. It seems that as long as you’re not a young woman, Twin Peaks is a fine place to be.”

“Jesus.” Albert sounds legitimately worried. “That is the most cynical thing I’ve ever heard you say. The place has already fucked you up, hasn’t it?”

“Everyone has their case.” Cooper agrees. Albert grumbles into the line.

“Just, stay safe, OK?”

“I always do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Descriptions of sexual and physical abuse perpetrated on women.


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year to everyone! I hope that your holiday celebrations went well and that 2021 goes better for everyone as a whole!

“OK gentlemen, my apologies for being so late. We’re going to start having briefings at 9am sharp every day, we just had a few hold ups today.” Cooper announces. Everyone has gathered in the conference room for muster after milling aimlessly around the station for an hour while Harry and Cooper got a handle on the morning. “We’ve had a busy couple of days, so let’s get this started. Remember, none of what I’m about to say leaves this room.”

“First, the fire at the mill. The investigator’s report is in, and they’ve determined the cause was an explosive device and gasoline. The autopsies are in progress and we’re waiting for the official report, but there are a number of motives for starting the fire - insurance fraud, murder of the burn victim, murder of the women in the dugout, and possible intimidation of Jocelyn Packard by people who are interested in her land. We don’t have any IDs yet but Shelly Johnson has been reported as missing. Harry has contacted her parents who have agreed to request her dental files for comparison against our Jane Doe. Please note that we have not informed them that we have found the burn victim, it was phrased it as a hypothetical need, so if you happen to have contact with her parents, just tell them that we are searching. Our primary subject is her abusive husband, Leo Johnson, whom I will return to momentarily.

"Secondly, the women found in the pit. Medical reports from the survivors and the preliminary autopsy reports agree: these women have been shot up with heroin and had brutal sexual contact, most likely rape, as well as generally being beaten and starved. Typical marks of human trafficking and sexual slavery. While our primary suspect is Jocelyn Packard she couldn’t have done this alone. This is where Leo Johnson comes back into the story. As a trucker he would have been able to discreetly whisk these women out of Twin Peaks and to buyers in various parts of the country. As a man known for his brutality the profile fits. However due to nature of his schedule he couldn’t have consistently tended to these women, so we believe that there has to be at least one other person involved. We are don’t have a specific subject in mind. Leo is still missing. Nothing has been reported on the A.P.B we sent out a few weeks ago.

"We currently also have A.P.Bs on Catherine Martell and Jocelyn Packard. As you should all know, Catherine and Jocelyn have been unreachable since the fire happened. We have received approval for warrants for both the Martell and Packard residences, which we will be searching today. We’re putting in for warrant to search the Johnson residence again. We would like to search the rest of the mill but we are waiting on a structural engineer to come in and confirm that it is safe. If the condition of the rest of the mill is too unsafe we will have to allow it to be demolished.” Cooper takes a breath. “Does anyone have any questions, or anything to report?” Hawk raises his hand.

“Hawk?”

“Have we contacted trucking companies and asked them to spread the word to their drivers to be on the lookout for Leo? There aren’t any better eyes on the road.” Cooper nods.

“Good idea. After we’re done here, get on the phone with the major trucking companies. Pull the description from the A.P.B. we put out.” Cooper doesn’t have high hopes. By this point Leo has probably swapped vehicles, because taking a large trucking cab was a stupid idea in the first place.

“If there are no more questions then let’s get back to work gentlemen. Andy and John, you’re with Harry and me. Hawk will be holding down the fort until we get back. Come on boys, let’s go.” Everyone rises and Cooper watches darkly as they file out. He feels like the investigation is trailing too far behind to find anything useful, that they’re just chasing their tails in circles.

“We’ll figure it out, Coop.” He feels Harry’s hand before it lands on his shoulder, but when it makes contact his world tilts.

_“ - the happy generation.”_

_“We all agreed. You’re one of us now.”_

_Harry, meeting him at the bar with his shy grin – the best man of the Bookhouse Boys._

_Douglas firs and mountains that were calling to him, things that were, like him, all made of exploding stars eons before -_

“Are you O.K.?” Harry’s voice is low with concern, and when Cooper focuses his eyes he realizes everyone else has left.

“I’m fine.” Cooper straightens up and Harry removes his hand. That shoulder feels bereft, lighter than it should be, but Cooper himself feels oddly full.

“Special Agent Cooper, I need to speak with you. Privately.” Lucy is in the doorway, a piece of paper clutched in her hand.

“We’ll wait for you in the parking lot.” Harry tells him, and politely closes the door as he leaves. Lucy whispers anyway.

“I don’t know if I should be keeping this from Harry, because he is the sheriff, but I thought I’d tell you instead and then you can tell Harry if you think it’s right, and I know that because you’re FBI you’re in charge of everything so-” Cooper puts up a palm.

“Lucy, what is it?” She takes a breath.

“Equifax called and faxed this over. Josie’s card was used at Nordstrom’s yesterday in Seattle, it just came through. A charge for _fifteen hundred dollars_.” Her eyes are wide as she hands over the paper, like the number is astronomically huge.

“Excellent Lucy. You were absolutely right to bring this to me.” The paper is a list of all transactions made by Josie in the last month. The charge at Nordstrom’s is the only one made since the fire. “Let Hawk know about this, but tell him to keep it between the three of us for now. Ask him to call Seattle police and see if they can’t send someone over and do some interviews, review any footage if they have cameras.” Lucy nods.

“I’m on it, Special Agent Dale Cooper.” Lucy is the kind of woman one doesn’t often find working in law enforcement, and there’s something about her high voice and lackadaisical yet competent disposition that buoys Cooper’s mood. 

“Lucy, I don’t know if I’ve ever told you this, but I appreciate everything you do. You’re dependable, conscientious and smart. You make my job a lot easier and Twin Peaks is lucky to have you.” Lucy’s face flushes with pride and Cooper can’t help but return her smile.

“That’s so nice of you to say, Agent Cooper. Can I ask you a personal question?” 

“Go ahead.” Lucy looks around the room conspiratorially, and when she finds it still empty she drops her voice so low that it’s barely audible.

“Did something happen between you and Harry?” Something within him drops and Cooper gives himself away as he takes a step back.

“Why do you ask?”

“Well, it’s just that sometimes it seems like everything is OK between you two but then other times it doesn’t. And when it does seem OK it’s still not like it was before. Like, sometimes you just look at each other in this… weird way. Like in ‘Invitation to Love’ after Jade and Montana had divorced, except they still love each other so they keep looking at each other behind their backs because it’s supposed to be a secret, except I don’t know why it’s a secret and I really don’t know why they got divorced in the first place. I’m not saying you two are in love or anything, but you were really close and then suddenly you just left here in a huff and it’s been weird since you got back.” Cooper clears his throat.

“It’s just a little cabin fever Lucy. It’s hard when someone comes and takes over your department, and sometimes it can bug a man’s ego.” Lucy looks at him remorsefully and shakes her head.

“If you really believe that, then you don’t know Sheriff Truman half as good as I thought you did.” Cooper isn’t sure whether Lucy has caught him in his lie or is merely admonishing his lack of faith, but either way he has no answer.

“Make sure Hawk gets that memo, OK Lucy? We’ll see you when we get back.”

“Have we contacted Leo’s company to see where he might be?” Cooper asks on their drive to Pete Martell’s residence. Andy and another deputy are following, back-up for the search they will perform. Harry shakes his head patiently.

“He’s an independent contractor, so we don’t have a company to call. We can only hope that when that search warrant comes through we find some sort of tracking system in his home. Not that he’s likely to go where we might think of finding him.” Cooper bites the inside of his cheek. Of course – they had gone through this when they had initially sent out the A.P.B after finding the cocaine in Johnson’s house. He doesn’t usually forget things, can only blame the shoddy sleep he’s had for the last few nights.

“How do you think Sternwood is going to react to a second warrant for the same property?” Cooper asks.

“Considering we have a lot more to go on this go around, it’s not going to be a problem.” Cooper remembers working with Harry on how to artfully turn ‘an FBI agent had a dream that incriminated Leo Johnson’ into something that sounded vaguely like probable cause. Harry has a point.

“OK, that’s good. Does this state have anything in the way of an indigent burial program?” Cooper asks. Harry shrugs.

“That’s an interesting question. I’ve never had to look into it. Why?”

“Albert says that the hospital needs to get the bodies out of their morgue. It’s a lot of people to hold for one hospital. If we don’t handle this in a timely manner then they’re going to call in funeral homes to take them, and they charge for refrigeration by the day. By the time the state and the Bureau have argued over who is going to pay for it, it’s going to be quite costly to get them back.”

“Yeah.” Harry doesn’t like the news and his sentimentality irritates Cooper. “I suppose you haven’t heard anything on IDs for these women?”

“No. We’re not going to be able to track down their families in time for them to have any input on what happens to them.” There’s a long pause.

“I don’t know how we got onto the topic, but Josie was telling me about burial rites once.” Cooper bristles at the mention of Josie, thinks the time for fond reminiscing is over, but holds his tongue. “She said her family was Taoist, and there are so many complex rituals regarding death. Everyone wears white, the men have headbands and the woman have a sort of pointed hood. Priests chant and there’s a circle of fire in which they place nine tiles and then they smash them with a sword. It’s supposed to symbolize breaking the levels of hell. A priest sits on a lotus-shaped chair and chants, and he’s supposed to become some goddess of mercy. Then there’s all these rituals around, well, bad energy I guess. The priest has to pray for any jealous spirits who might be hanging around because no one prayed for them when they died, if your zodiac sign clashes with the deceased then you have to turn your head or else you’ll get dragged into the underworld with them. The family gets money, but the sum of the money can’t be an even number or end in a nine. It’s all very complex.”

“Eastern religions have very long and intricate traditions.” Cooper agrees.

“Yeah. And I don’t know if these girls are Buddhist or Taoist or Moonies, but the fact that they’ll just be cremated and placed in an unmarked grave is sad. They probably thought that when they died they’d have all these rituals performed for them, like they performed for their loves ones, and instead they’re just… here.” There’s an itching under Cooper’s skin that reminds him that he used to be bothered by this too, that he used to be so attached to the concept of dignity and respect. He’s alarmed in a way he hasn’t been until now, wonders exactly how much of himself he has lost.

“In Tibetan Buddhism they believe that there is no need to preserve the body, that it has become an empty vessel. So they often do sky burials, where the deceased is left out in the open air for scavengers to prey on. When only the bones are left they are crushed to give to cows. The monks laugh as they go about the ritual, they believe it makes it easier for the spirit to move on to rebirth.”

“That’s… morbid.”

“By our standards, yes. But for a country made mostly of rocks, it is surprisingly practical.”

“Do you believe we’re reborn?” Cooper thinks about this. If he had been asked two days ago he would have known, but now he feels like a child, the concept of another death too far off to have any real meaning.

“I don’t know what I believe in anymore.” 

They arrive at noon and Pete is his usual blustery self. The disappearances of Catherine and Josie haven’t kept his indomitable spirit down for long.

“Can I get you gentleman coffee?” He asks. They both decline.

“You still haven’t heard from Josie?” Harry asks. Pete shakes his head.

“No, no no. You know women – tryn’a corral them is a job no man is suited for. I’m sure she’ll come moseying along in no time.” He hums as he puts coffee grounds in the percolator. Cooper can’t help but be jealous of the man’s self-possessed nature, untouched by any temporal tragedy. He wants to say that the old Cooper was like that but doesn’t think he has ever approached Pete’s level of laissez-faire.

“Pete, something else has come up that we need to talk to you about. Do you or Catherine have any ties to Southeast Asia?” The question is very broad but they don’t have a lot to go on at this moment.

“Southeast Asia?” Pete furrows his brow, thinking hard as he pours the kettle. “I think my fishing pole was made in China. Not the good one, mind you, but there’s this back-up one I have that ain’t too-”

“I mean business connections, relatives, friends, that sort of thing.” Cooper clarifies.

“Josie's from Hong Kong. I know my late brother-in-law did a bunch of business there. Otherwise, I can’t think of a thing. I miss that man sometimes.” 

“OK Pete, we have a bigger problem that has come up.” Harry launches into his short spiel about the captive women and Cooper looks around the living room. He’s not sure what he’s looking for, he never is, but he’s marked out some places of interest to explore further. When Harry is done Pete looks as troubled as Pete ever does, eyebrows spurting out in all directions.

“That’s terrible.”

“It is.” Harry agrees. “We’re hoping that there might be something in Catherine’s possessions that can shed some light on these nameless women. Could we search the house a little bit?”

“Of course. I don’t know what Catherine would have to do with it, but as the Mexicans say, mi casa, su casa.”

“Thanks Pete. We really appreciate it.” Harry assures him. “I just have some deputies outside and they’ll come in to make the job quicker.” Pete waves him off and Harry goes out to get Andy and John. When they come back Pete offers them coffee, and despite a subtle shake of the head from Harry they enthusiastically accept.

Cooper goes through every book, Harry goes through every file, Andy and John touch every surface, but there is nothing that betrays any connection. Andy even gets down on all fours and searches the ground floor for hidden trap doors. There’s an exciting moment when John finds a safe behind a false wall.

“Do you have the key?” Cooper asks. Pete gives the safe a mournful glance.

“Yeah, but she’s probably removed everything.” He’s right - inside there is nothing.

“Thank you for your time Pete.” Harry says as they all remove their gloves and begin packing up.

“Not at all. Say, have you searched Josie’s house? Like I said, she’s from Hong Kong.” Cooper purses his lips. If there’s one thing he misses it’s the patience he used to have.

“It’s on our list.” Harry assures him. “Shelly and Leo Johnson are missing too, so we’ve got a lot on our plate.” Pete frowns.

“Leo isn’t missing. The day after the fire I got him to load up a bunch of logs and he went off to Longview. Had to sell the trees to Weyerhauser since we can’t process them right now.” Pete’s eyebrows furrow deeper. “Actually, he should have come back for more. He made me pay him for ten loads up front. Maybe he _is_ missing.” Cooper’s eyes light up.

“Pete, exactly when did he leave?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. He came to me in the hospital, early in the mornin’, said he’d seen the fire and wanted to take our timber somewhere it could be processed. Told him it was a good idea but that it would take me a couple of days to get it sorted out. He kept pushin’ me, and I called Dean at Weyerhauser, who said he’d take it. Then I had to call the foreman and tell him to get a loading crew to the mill. I don’t know what time Leo actually left town, but it was sometime the day after the fire.”

“Was Shelly with him when you saw him?”

“Oh no.” Pete shakes his head and Cooper’s mind spins. Perhaps his initial assessment had been incorrect – maybe Leo had set the fire and Shelly’s execution had been carefully planned rather than a crime of passion. Or perhaps the fire wasn’t set by Leo – maybe it had been a punishment from some other criminal element. But for what? And the third possibility was there too – that the body wasn’t Shelly’s, that she on the run, either with or without Leo. There are too many moving pieces, too many possible turns on the path. Cooper usually waits until some sort of intuition kicks in and tells him which leads to follow, but everything seems cold and uninspired to him now.

“Thank you Pete. This is the biggest break we’ve had in the case.” Harry tips his hat and Pete looks enormously pleased with himself, grinning victoriously before turning to Andy and John.

“How did you like the coffee? I got an idea after a fish got into the percolator last time these fellas were here. I added a bit of oyster juice.”

Andy and John look nauseous.

On the way out, as their coworkers are scraping their tongues on their jackets, Cooper murmurs to Harry “I didn’t think Pete was much of a business man.”

“Pete is full of surprises.” Harry agrees.


	6. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for missing a week! I've changed the rating on this for future chapters, but I will give a warning at the beginning of the chapter if there's going to be NSFW content. Like this chapter. There is a little fantasizing interlude in it that is NSFW. My apologies to anyone who thought they'd found a nice, non-porny fic :(
> 
> Also, for anyone who is interested in joining a laid back discord server for Twin Peaks, I would like to present you with: https://discord.gg/ChWaXjjkCz For discussing the show, weird theories, weird ships, weird fanworks, and even things that aren't weird if you want to talk about that too.

Josie’s home winds up being suspiciously clean, to the point that it feels like any Jane Doe off the street could have lived there. It has that bland, interior decorator style– homey, but lacking in personal touches. There are no photos of her late husband, the bookcase is filled with volumes that are obviously for show. Even when they crack open her filing cabinet there’s no personal correspondence, the only documents in Chinese are the ones needed for immigration to the US – a birth certificate, a letter from a police department declaring Josie has no criminal record, both with English translations. Cooper doesn’t trust them, doesn’t believe that she was born Jocelyn Chen, and feels like he’s stepped onto an elaborate stage.

“Did she ever talk to you about her life in Hong Kong?” Cooper asks as they’re packing up another failed search. Harry shakes his head.

“Not really. She loved her grandmother, but never talked about her parents or any siblings. I don’t know much about her before she came to the US.”

“And you never asked?” There’s an accusatory tone in his voice as a childish sense of retribution bubbles up. He had wanted to know all about Harry, ask him a million questions because he had loved him and he had cared. He wants Harry to realize that he didn’t love Josie, couldn’t have loved her if he had been so blasé.

“You know I’m not big on words, Cooper.” He thinks he hears the same bone-aching tiredness that Cooper had felt when Harry had rejected him, and a small part of him feels satisfied. “I figured if she wanted to talk about it that she would, and if she didn’t it wasn’t any of my business. Besides, if you can’t leave the past behind when you come to America, where can you ever escape it?”

“There are some things that follow us no matter where we go,” Cooper replies curtly. Harry sighs and Cooper knows he’s bought them another silent ride back to the station. 

When they get back to the station Lucy immediately rises and opens her mouth.

“OK Lucy, what do we have now?” Harry asks tiredly as they walk over.

“Sheriff Truman, Special Agent Cooper, Providence called and one of the ladies at the hospital is conscious. The doctor wants you to call them back right away. It’s Dr. Smith and I have his number right here.” She thrusts the sticky note through the port in her screen.

“Thanks Lucy.” Cooper grabs it. “Harry, I’ll be in the conference room.”

Dr. Smith turns out to be an amiable gentleman with a soothing, Mr. Rogers-esque voice. He doesn’t rush through the call like most doctors would, but takes his time to bring Cooper up to date. The patient has identified herself as Ling Mai and only speaks a few words of English. However a Chinese-speaking nurse has been chatting with her and reports that Ling Mai is from Hong Kong and can be questioned in Cantonese. Predictably Ling Mai is sleeping a lot of the time, and he advises Cooper to come either between breakfast and lunch or before dinner for the interview. She’s still going through heroin withdrawal and is emotionally labile, and is upset if there are too many people in her room. Cooper assures him that only two officers will be coming and he will call back when he books a translator. After a call to the bureau and another back to the hospital he strides into Harry’s office.

“When are we going?” Harry has a neatly organized stack of paperwork that he is going through by his elbow, he doesn’t look up from the report he is working on.

“So the patient, Ling Mai, speaks Cantonese. Up until recently the Bureau would fly translators in. Now they’re testing using phone translation services as a pilot project.” Cooper says. “It’ll save a lot of time and money, but some people were worried about interpretation of body language. So the Bureau is testing it out with select individuals – ones where we don’t think the interviewees have motivations to lie about the case at hand. We have a translator booked for 10am tomorrow. ”

“Great,” Harry says, continuing to fill in his report, and uncharacteristically Cooper can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. He’s so engrossed in his writing that as Cooper is on his way back out he can’t help but stop for a moment, observing him from the doorway. As people tend to be, the more engrossed Harry is the more beautiful he becomes – freed from self-consciousness there is something easy and graceful about him. Cooper hasn’t allowed himself to break into self-indulgent sexual fantasies about his partner for a multitude of reasons – the stress of the Laura Palmer case, the stress of this case, the fact that they are essentially coworkers, and then having his heart broken. But they come rushing to his mind’s eye all at once and he allows himself to get swept up. He can see himself straddling Harry, pushing him back in his chair and bruising his lips. Harry would taste like coffee and Douglas Fir, would melt beautifully under deft hands, his neck stretching up like a sunflower to meet Cooper’s demanding kisses. Cooper wouldn’t waste time removing clothing, would just undo his belt and zipper, trail a hand beneath Harry’s shirt before reaching into his underwear. He imagines the feel of Harry’s cock in his hand, throbbing and begging for attention, can hear Harry’s moans as he strokes, lightly at first, then picks up the pace…

“Do you need something?” Harry asks. Cooper pauses.

“You have something on your shirt,” he says, and Harry begins examining himself as Cooper walks out.

“Special Agent Cooper!” Lucy tracks him down in the hallway with a hiss, taking his arm and ushering him into a corner by the wall. “Deputy Hawk called the Seattle police,” she whispers. “They told him to go and fuck himself.” Cooper frowns.

“Seriously? Did they honestly say that?” Lucy shrugs.

“I just report what I’m told.”

“Well, where is he?” Cooper wants clarification, thinks something must have gotten lost in translation. Lucy points towards the conference room. He finds Hawk solemnly munching on a donut and sits down beside him.

“Did Seattle really tell you to go and fuck yourself?” Cooper asks, a half smile on his face.

“Not literally,” Hawk admits. “Just gave the usual ‘We don’t have enough resources, if you wanna send someone out we’re happy to authorize it for this case,’ blah blah blah.”

“Ah.” Cooper sits down and joins him, grabbing a chocolate donut. “So a polite ‘fuck you’.” Hawk nods. “Listen, Harry and I are going down to Spokane tomorrow to interview one of the women who woke up. We’re gonna need you to handle the station for a while. You can call us at Providence if anything big happens.” Hawk nods again, gives a thoughtful look over his doughnut.

“That’s a long drive.” Cooper chews and swallows.

“Not that long. Two hours there, two hours back roughly. Maybe grab something to eat. I’m sure the victim won’t tell us anything we don’t already suspect, but the confirmation of our information is invaluable.” He shrugs.

“Are we going to send anyone up to Seattle?” Hawk asks, and Cooper nods.

“Send Malcolm and John down tomorrow. I know that’ll leave you short staffed here, but,” Cooper shrugs and spreads his arms. “it is what it is. And notify the Seattle PD and Nordstroms.” Hawk eyes him critically.

“Have you discussed this with Harry?”

“Hawk,” Cooper says evenly. “This is an F.B.I investigation. I don’t need Harry’s permission to make use of his resources.”

“No,” Hawk agrees. “But it is courteous to consult with the Sheriff before leaving his department three men down.” Cooper sighs.

“Hawk, between you and me, Harry gets a little wound up where the subject of Josie comes up. He’s got enough on his shoulders, do you really want to add to it?”

“Investigating her behind his back is going to be worse in the long run.”

“Look, I don’t trust Harry’s judgment when it comes to her, and my only other option is pulling him from the case. Send them out tomorrow.” Cooper hasn’t had to pull rank the entire time he’s been in Twin Peaks, has actively avoided it until now, but he’s ready to fight on this issue. He thinks that there might be some part of him that just _wants_ to pick a fight, and the way his muscles tense for the conflict is strange but exhilarating. For a second it looks like Hawk might oblige him, there’s some rising of tension that is hard to describe. Then Hawk relaxes, leans back in his chair and just shakes his head.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but you’re playing a stupid game and you’re running the risk of winning stupid prizes.”

“If that stupid prize is bringing the guilty to justice, I can live with that,” Cooper replies. Hawk just fixes him with his soul piercing gaze, and while Cooper doesn’t flinch there’s something in him that scurries from the scrutiny. When Hawk gets up and leaves the conference room Cooper feels restless, as though there’s still something scratching at his chest wall trying to get out.


	7. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see end notes for trigger warnings.

Cooper initially plans to go back to the Great Northern, make a tape for Diane and settle in for a nice dinner. He knows it will likely be one of the few evenings he has to relax and he wants to make the most of it. He even thinks of heading to the sauna, an amenity that he was surprised to find in a hotel as well-priced as this one. However when he gets in he’s accosted at the front door by a harried, apologetic staff member dressed in a wool coat and a hat.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she says, holding out a blanket to him. “The propane ran out. We have a truck on the way, but for now it’s chilly in here.”

“You ran out of propane?” Cooper says slowly. She nods.

“But a truck is on the way.”

“You ran. Out. Of. Propane,” Cooper repeats. She looks at him awkwardly and shrugs, wipes her dripping nose on her shoulder. Cooper just shakes his head, and before he can think he finds his feet moving towards the dining room. The usually elegant arrangement is in disarray, the tables pushes against the walls and the chairs all in front of the fire. All things considered, the residents are handling it very well. They’re massed together in an embrace of coats and blankets, drinking and laughing. The people closest to the fire are roasting marshmallows. When someone leads the congregation into a rousing version of ‘Kumbaya’ Cooper jerks away, irritated by something he can’t explain, and allows his feet o guide him again. They take him upstairs, down a familiar hall, and before he knows it he’s facing the door to Ben Horne’s office. He pauses for a second before pushing on the doors. The inside of Ben’s office is warm, the fire roaring nicely.

“Tell her that tonight’s stay will be free, but we’re not prorating the entire week that she’s staying here.” Benjamin Horne is pinching the bridge of his nose, gripping the receiver a bit too tightly. “No, don’t send her up to me. Tell her you’ve spoken to the owner and that is final. I don’t want to hear anything else from the front desk about this.” He slams down the handle a bit too forcefully, and gives a sigh of disgust when it tumbles to the floor. Bending over it pick it up, it isn’t until he rises that he finally notices Cooper in his doorway.

“Look,” he says, arms wide in placation. “We’ve got a fuel truck on the way, the heat should be back on in an hour. You’re not being charged for your stay tonight.”

“I’m not here about the propane, although it seems unimaginably sloppy to not keep an eye on it in the winter.” Cooper strides down the few stairs in a single step, comes within a foot of the desk.

“Fine.” Ben sighs. “What are you here for? In fact, I thought you had left.”

“Audrey didn’t tell you I was back?” Cooper cocks his head, grins sharkishly. “She was very happy to see me.”

“What. Do. You. Want.” Ben asks through gritted teeth.

“I’m here on another case,” Cooper replies. “I need to ask you some questions.”

“Remember how you falsely charged me last time? Do it twice and I’ll make sure you’re flipping burgers for the rest of your life.” Ben’s face is flushed, and he accentuates his point with a shaking finger.

“I happen to enjoy the smell of a grill.” Cooper grins sardonically. “I’m here on a trafficking case. The trail runs right through Twin Peaks and perilously close to you.”

“Trafficking?” Ben sneers. “What the hell would I have to do with that?”

“Sexual slavery,” Cooper clarifies, watching the town mogul intently. “Twin Peaks is a small place, and the obvious connection is One Eyed Jacks. It isn’t unreasonable to think that the owner of a brothel might have an interest in this.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. That’s the casino across the border, right?” Cooper tuts softly, shaking his head.

“Benjamin, Benjamin. We _know_ you’re the owner. I’m sure you have it hidden in various shell companies, but the F.B.I has the best forensic accountants in the country. Not to mention, I’m sure the Hell’s Angels don’t like you impinging on their territory. Things could get very ugly for you.”

“Is that a threat?” Ben asks, and there’s a slight twitch in his fingers as he tents his palms on his desk and leans over. Cooper shakes his head again.

“It’s a reality. You can cooperate with us and make things easier for yourself, or we can drag this out the hard way. It’s your empire, your choice.” He mimics Ben’s actions, and their foreheads almost touch as they lock eyes. “But this is big, Ben. More than half those girls died.” Ben springs back, wide-eyed and alarmed.

“What? What girls?” Cooper straightens up, lets the beat drop as he studies Ben.

“The ones trafficked into this country for the purposes of prostitution. The ones held in a dugout in the mill floor. Come on, Ben. We’ve followed the paper trail. It’s very convenient that the mill, which now belongs to you, held trafficked women, which would have been profitable to One Eyed Jacks, which has an interest in the sex trade.”

“Look.” Ben’s hands shake as he removes his glasses, rubs at his eyes. “Even if it were true – that I own One Eyed Jacks and they have some sort of… secret prostitution ring going on, the time line of events wouldn’t connect it. Josie owned the mill up until the fire. Unless someone went to the ruins of the mill, excavated a dug-out and held those women prisoner while there was a fire investigation occurring, I wouldn’t have had the chance to be involved.”

“It makes sense if you and Josie were working together.” Cooper presses as Horne puts his glasses back on. “She has contacts in Hong Kong to get you the goods you need, and maybe even more. There’s big money in trafficking women all over the country. It’s an investment opportunity. But then the F.B.I comes into town investigating the murder of Laura Palmer and you need to ditch the goods quickly, maybe collect a little insurance money while you’re at it. It all makes perfect sense to me.” Ben frowns.

“Where is Sheriff Truman? You’re more even-tempered when he’s around, ironically. Don’t you need local law enforcement when you’re out and about harassing citizens?”

“The F.B.I has jurisdiction when we’re called in. The Sheriff accompanies me as a courtesy, not a duty.”

“Well this conversation is over. Don’t come back unless you have Truman and a warrant.” Ben replies, motioning to the door. Cooper waits a moment, capturing one last glance of the scene before taking the cue.

“Cooper?”

“Yes?” He turns back.

“How many women were there?” Ben looks irritated at his own inability to keep his mouth shut. Cooper cocks his head.

“Twelve.”

“Jesus,” Ben whispers, and almost falls into his chair. “Here. In Twin Peaks.” Cooper doesn’t respond, just turns and continues his exodus.

Cooper’s feet seem to lack any ideas, and he decides that returning to his hotel room is the best option. He feels disoriented, like he’s either just come out of a dream or entered into one, and the halls seem strange and foreign to him. He takes the stairs carefully, his limbs clumsy and unresponsive. When he finds his room he has to fish in his pocket for his key, and out of the corner of his eye he sees the waiter, stooped and smiling, appear at the end of the hall. Cooper knows he didn’t come out of any of the rooms and the hall itself is a dead end. He could only have been drawn from the air, and despite the cold he’s only dressed in his usual thin, white button-up shirt. Cooper eyes him, key dangling in his hand, and the waiter gives him the thumbs up.

“Propane truck arrived,” he says cheerfully. “The tank was completely dry. Found a nest of raccoons in there that we had to get rid of. You gotta be careful with empty things. You never know what might move in.” He gives another thumbs up which Cooper doesn’t return. There’s a long pause where Cooper just stares, hand on the door, waiting for the waiter to disappear into the ether. The waiter keeps smiling, thumb in the air, and after a few moments Cooper realizes that the man’s patience will last far longer than his. So Cooper just nods and unlocks the door to his room.

“Diane, is it is currently 7:06pm. I am currently in my room at the Great Northern Hotel, room 315. The hotel ran out of propane and thus there is no heat circulating. The supply truck is here, so it should be back on soon, but in the meantime I have to pace to keep myself warm.” He tucks his free hand under his armpit as he begins to feel small shivers run down his body. “I had an impromptu interview with Benjamin Horne. I have ascertained that he is not involved with our trafficking victims, although I believe he at least had foreknowledge of the fire at the Packard Sawmill. This complicates the narrative. While I believe that Jocelyn Packard is not who she says she is, she doesn’t strike me as having the initiative to organize something like this on her own. Catherine Martell may be the missing piece there, but I have not uncovered any evidence that she would have the connections to traffic women within the country, and she doesn’t appear to associate with any of the usual suspects, besides Benjamin Horne. I’m missing something, and I need to find out what that is.” There’s a knock at the door, and Cooper turns off the recording. He trades the recorder for his gun, holding it in his left hand while opening the door with his right. Audrey is standing there, holding a large quilt.

“Hi Special Agent Cooper.” She says shyly. “Since I didn’t see you in the dining room, I thought I’d bring you something a bit warmer.” She holds out her bundle and Cooper takes it.

“That’s very thoughtful. Thank you.” She smiles and then stays in the doorway a moment too long, trying not to let her eyes venture inside. There’s a moment where he considers it, thinks that even when the propane kicks in there will be a few more chilly hours that he could ward off.

“I have some work to do.” He says instead. Audrey doesn’t look disappointed, she must have known this was the inevitable outcome.

“Have a good night.”

_Cooper is in Ben Horne’s office and the fireplace is roaring. It’s hot, too hot, and he can feel the sweat dripping down his back and sternum. He loosens his tie and a puff of steam rises from under his collar. The Watcher is close but the heat warps the air, chokes his vision. Audrey walks into view, toddling with uneven, eager steps. She’s heading for the fire and Cooper gasps “No” but she can’t hear him. He’s frozen in place, helpless as she stops in front of the mantle and reaches a hand out to caress the flames._

_“This fire isn’t for me,” she says, smiling wistfully. “But sometimes it’s nice to feel warm.” She plunges her hand into the flames and Cooper can only watch. She wears the same smile as the flesh starts to burn and the scent of roasting fat fills the room. The Watcher cackles, louder and louder until Cooper’s vision blurs and the room spins._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Description of a person deliberately plunging their hand into a fire and burning themselves.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have a friend, who has a friend, and this second friend guided my first friend to a great treasure: digital copies of Trooper fics written in 'zines circa 1991. I feel like a fandom archeologist reading these, and it is so cool that we have them available, so I wanted to share a link for anyone who is interested: [Charlotte Frost's Trooper Fan Fic](http://charlottefrostfanfic.com/twinpeaks.html).
> 
> Happy reading!

After waking up Cooper isn’t able to fall back to sleep. He tries, but every time he closes his eyes he just smells Audrey burning, cackles ringing in his ears. He’s tired, hasn’t slept well in three nights, but it’s too early in the morning to take a benzo so he tries to meditate with his eyes open. Even then he just sees the vapour from the flames warping the tongue and groove pine, his skin prickles with anxiety. So he gets ready, bleary eyed yet hyper alert, and when he’s dressed he wanders down the hall of the Great Northern. Aside from two ice fisherman quietly organizing themselves at the front door there’s no activity. Everyone is asleep, and it’s too early for the morning staff to begin preparing breakfast. It would have been peaceful except it’s eerie, a sort of dead zone between the unconscious and the living. Cooper goes outside to escape the creaks and echoes of the hotel, but the woods are ominous in the twilight. He feels stuck between worlds, a mixture of fear and boredom turning him irritable, and he has no idea what to do.

He arrives at the station an hour early because he has nowhere else to be, can’t stand hanging around the Great Northern any longer. Sitting in his sedan, Cooper takes out his pocket knife and a stick he had picked up on a whim and begins whittling. He doesn’t know what form the carving is going to take, just allows his unconscious mind pare to down the wood. It’s oddly calming, following the grooves and notches, and for a while Cooper loses himself in the act of creation. Sometime later, when Harry knocks on the window, Cooper jerks. The knife slips and neatly slices into the pad of his thumb.

“Shit,” he curses, sucking his thumb in his mouth as his right hand crosses over to press the unlocking button.

“Are you OK?” Harry asks as he settles into the passenger seat. Cooper doesn’t look at him but can feel his gentle concern.

“I’m fine,” he replies, looking at his thumb. The cut is superficial, just looks worse than it is because of the saliva mixed with the blood. “Do you have a tissue or a napkin or something?” Harry lifts his hips and digs into his back pocket, produces a ubiquitous brown napkin that most likely came from the Double R.

“Thanks.” He wraps it around his thumb and presses his hand on the steering wheel, using the pressure to keep the napkin in place.

“Cooper, you look like shit. I think I should drive.”

“I’m fine, Harry. Let’s get on the road.” And because Harry is passive, because he never fights for what he wants, he says nothing as Cooper reverses out of the parking lot.

“Have a rough night?” Harry asks when they drive past the town limits. He’s full of motherly concern, a heat that warms but doesn’t burn, and where once Cooper would have found it charming he now just finds it irritating.

“Great Northern ran out of propane. Why the hell aren’t they hooked up to the town’s supply?” he demands. Harry chuckles.

“The Great Northern was there before the gas line. Ben Horne balked at the cost of retrofitting the hotel and hooking up to the town and has just kept trucking it in since time immemorial. Guess that came back to bite him in the ass.”

“It’s asinine.” Cooper agrees. “Absolutely ridiculous. And people were signing and roasting marshmallows in a 45 degree hotel. We could have been holed up in an igloo instead of overpaying for a cold hotel with no room service.”

“He’s not discounting the stay?” Harry asks.

“Well, he’s not charging anyone for the night.” Cooper admits. Harry shrugs.

“I don’t see the problem then. It sounds kind of cozy.” Cooper doesn’t dignify that with a reply.

An hour into their two hour journey to Spokane, Cooper knows it’s time to bring it up. “Harry,” he finally says, trying to keep his tone neutral and light. The effort is exhausting.

“Yes?”

“Equifax let us know that a charge was made on Josie’s card shortly after the fire, at a Nordstrom’s in Seattle.” Even, calm. He can do this. “The Seattle police have invited us to come down and do an investigation.” Harry snorts.

“So they’re refusing to do jack squat and want us to drive twelve hours to review some footage. Typical.” 

“All the same.” Cooper tries to stay out of local bureaucratic squabbles as much as he can. “I sent Malcolm and John down today.” There’s a silence, he can hear Harry shift uncomfortably beside him.

“So because it involves Josie you don’t trust me.” The statement is flat, devoid of any emotion, but for a man of few words he says it all.

“It’s not that,” Cooper says, even though it is _exactly_ that. Mostly that. “I can tell you’re tired. Laura Palmer, and now this. It’s a lot for one small town, and both investigations have been… eventful. Besides, this is probably going to be an exercise where the effort isn’t going to reward us.” Harry lets out a small tired laugh.

“So you don’t tell me about Equifax, get Hawk to call Seattle, then spring this on me and try to feed me some ego-feeding bullshit so that hopefully I won’t notice that you think I’m a liability. Nice, Cooper.”

“I should have pulled you from the case.” Cooper’s voice goes hard. “If this had occurred anywhere else you’d be stuck on desk duty, maybe answering the occasional call to comfort single women who claim to hear someone prowling in the bushes. Perhaps we would both be more comfortable if that were the case starting tomorrow.” It’s a low blow, but Harry doesn’t take the bait. Cooper wishes he would. He thinks that he’s been trying to edge them into a big blow out, relieve some of the tension, but Harry won’t co-operate, won’t feed into Cooper’s indignant rage, and that just stokes the fire. He can’t handle how erratic the man makes him, how all over the map he’s been the last three days, and realistically he knows if anyone should be benched from the case it’s him. Maybe it would have been better if he _had_ said no to Gordon, just gone back to D.C. for his debriefing and then to his lonely apartment in Pittsburgh. Instead he’s stuck in this car for another hour, soaking in Harry’s sadness and frustration, wishing he had never come to Twin Peaks at all.

“Coffee,” he says suddenly. “We need more coffee.” He makes a sharp turn at the exit, and both Harry and the rear tires skid to the left.

“Jesus Cooper.” Harry’s voice is irritated but mostly concerned so Cooper ignores it, flies up the ramp at 50 miles an hour. He pulls into a truck stop café, rips his seatbelt off and leaps out of the car. Harry fumbles with his own belt, falls behind, and Cooper is at the cash register before Harry has shut the car door.

“I’d like a coffee. Black,” He says to the smiling cashier.

“Sure! What blend would you like?” she asks.

“What?” Harry comes up beside him, leans on the counter so close that Cooper can smell his aftershave.

“We have a dark Columbian blend that has a hint of cherries and chocolate. We also have a vanilla coffee that would pair very well with a croissant, it kind of adds to the buttery taste. If you prefer a more hazelnut aroma we have a blend from Ethiopia, medium, that-”

“I asked for a cup of coffee,” Cooper says darkly, gripping the edges of the counter as his hands shake. “A simple cup of coffee. Black. Is there something that is so hard to understand about that?”

“Cooper-”

“I need caffeine, not a perfume. I don’t care what it ‘pairs’ with, because I didn’t ask for any food. I didn’t _ask_ for-”

“Cooper.” The cashier’s smile falls and her lips purse into a grim line.

“- a list of growing regions for the noble coffee bean because you know what? At the end of the day, I doubt you could find those countries on a _map_ -”

“Cooper!” Harry grabs him by the arm and roughly jerks him away, calling out apologies as he drags Cooper out of the cafe.

_“You fit into this town.” Cooper knows it’s true because Harry said it, Harry doesn’t lie, and he’s so happy he might fall into a million pieces._

_“ - senor Droolsworth - “ Albert catches his eye and Cooper knows he’s grinning inside, enjoys agitating people even though beneath it all Albert doesn’t have a cruel bone in his body._

_“I feel safe with you.” Caroline murmurs into his chest, clutching his ribs. “I can breath.”_

“Get in.” Harry throws open the door to the passenger side and roughly shoves a dazed Cooper into the seat. Cooper doesn’t fight, just falls right in. Harry has to pick up his legs and push them into the space under the dash before slamming the door. He marches to the other side and gets into the driver’s seat, face unusually animated with a mélange of emotions that just make him look ill. There’s always a touch of empathy that belies Harry’s actions, and it makes Cooper’s stomach do warm, shame-filled somersaults.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he demands, and even though the tone is angry Cooper hears the fear beneath it. “You’ve been a dick since you got here, but now you’re just being an asshole. I thought it was just me, and so that was O.K., but everyone’s noticed something’s off, and screaming at that poor girl was just… unbelievable. Literally. I saw it happen, and I still can’t believe that it was _you_. What the hell is going on, Cooper?”

“I don’t know,” he answers earnestly. If he didn’t feel so boneless and flaccid he’d act on his impulse to reach up and stroke Harry’s face, smooth away the frown lines etched between his eyebrows and on the corners of his mouth. Instead they’re locked in a staring contest, Harry demanding an answer that Cooper doesn’t have.

It takes a while, but Harry’s demanding glare softens into a worried concern. He bites the bottom of his lip before turning away, staring out of the front window into the café. His hands tap on the steering wheel and his foot thumps lighting on the floorboard, dissipating some nervous energy.

“OK, this is what is going to happen. I will go back into the café and get us coffee. And then I will drive us the rest of the way to the hospital.” Cooper knows Harry will brook no argument, and he has none to give. “Just stay here, OK?” He nods dumbly, and Harry gives one last concerned glance before stepping out of the car.

Cooper feels that dreaminess again, like he’s between two worlds. The car looks different in some indescribable way. He thinks that if he put his hand on the dashboard that it would just pass through. He’s not sure if it’s him that isn’t real or everything else.

His eyes fall on the stick he had whittled. With his blood smeared on the tip, he realizes it looks like a flame.


	9. Chapter Eight

The clerk at the front desk doesn’t acknowledge them as they approach. Clearing his throat, Cooper says, “Special Agent Dale Cooper, Federal Bureau of Investigation and Sheriff Harry S. Truman, here to interview Ling Mai.” She doesn’t look up from her paperwork.

“Medical-surgical unit 47. Take the elevator up to the fourth floor and turn left. Second door on your left again.” He and Harry look at each other, eyebrows raised, until Harry shrugs.

“Thanks,” Harry mutters and they walk over to the available elevator. There’s a beat as the door closes, and then he asks, “Did Albert mention anything about the security situation here?”

“No,” Cooper says thoughtfully. “The nice thing about telephone calls is they give you the ability to end the conversation whenever you want.” Harry snorts and grins with amusement, and Cooper tries to hide his own smile.

They get off the elevator, and before they have a chance to look around, they’re immediately accosted by Dr. Smith. Cooper isn’t surprised to find he’s a tall, slender man with grey hair and kind eyes.

“I assume you’re Special Agent Dale Cooper?” He asks.

“Yes, and this is my partner for the case, Sheriff Harry S. Truman from the town of Twin Peaks.” He eagerly shakes both of their hands.

“It isn’t that I don’t believe you, but if I could see your badges?” Cooper and Harry comply, and with a nod he leads them down another hallway where they stop before an unmarked door.

“The patient is very weak, so I’m not sure how long you’ll have to talk to her. Mrs. Yutang, our Cantonese-speaking nurse, says that she’s coherent and tends to talk in rapid bursts before going quiet again. Mrs. Yutang wanted to be there for the interview. As you might have guessed, she’s a little anxious around men. There’s a phone in there, our clerk hunted down a new one so hopefully the sound is crisp. You need to dial nine to get an outside line. We didn’t put the patient name on the door, just as a security precaution. I don’t know if that was necessary. She’s in there with another of the victims who hasn’t woken up yet.”

“How are they doing?” Cooper asks. Dr. Smith wags his head from shoulder to shoulder.

“So-so. They’re all stabilized. We ran them through C.T.s, put some casts on, have been doing wound care. Ms. Ling’s roommate had some intercranial bleeding, we’re least sure about her pulling through. Time will tell.”

“Thank you, Dr. Smith. Can we go in?”

“Of course. Don’t hesitate to let us know if there’s anything you need. Shelby is at the front desk, she is very resourceful.” They nod their goodbyes and Harry and Cooper push through the door. Inside Mrs. Yutang is by the bedside, rubbing gentle circles into Mai’s hand.

“Hello,” she greets them.

“Hello Mrs. Yutang. Thank you for being here during this interview.” Cooper and Harry shake her spare hand, which seems frail and delicate. Mai stirs a little, coming into wakefulness. “If you could just explain to her what’s going to happen, I just need to dial out and get our translator on the line.”

“Of course. What are your names?” She asks. Harry tells her, and Mrs. Yutang speaks in soothing tones to Mai while Cooper dials. When the translator, Mrs. Lam, is on the line, Cooper turns his attention back towards Mai whose eyes are bright and anxious.

“Mrs. Ling, we want you to know that you are not in any trouble. We are only here to investigate the people who hurt you.” Cooper speaks slowly, non-threateningly, partly to give Mrs. Lam enough time to translate. Mai just nods, clutching Mrs. Yutang’s hand.

“For the record, your name is Ling Mai?” She nods. 

“What is your date of birth?” May 9th, 1975.

“How old are you?” 23. 

“Where are you from?” The pronunciation is a little different, but Cooper doesn’t need the translator to know she says Hong Kong. 

“How did you get to America?” By boat.

“Did you purchase the services of immigration specialists to come to America?” Mai becomes hesitant, looks at Mrs. Yutang for assurance. The nurse whispers something kindly, which Cooper hopes is ‘Just tell the truth’, and Mai looks at him again before nodding.

“Do you know their names?” Mai bursts into a flurry of words before stopping abruptly.

“Xiao Ming was her initial contact, but she doesn’t think that it was his real name.” Mrs. Lam’s translates. “The handlers she met never gave her any names. ‘Xiao Ming’ is a very common name, like John Smith.” 

“Tell us the story.” Mai begins a burst of language again, and Cooper has to work to both focus on Mai and listen to the translator. Mai had been given the number for the trafficker from a friend and contacted Xiao Ming. She was given two weeks to get her affairs in order. She was taken to a warehouse in Hong Kong and kept there for a number of days, but she’s not exactly sure how long. Some of the girls were there before her, and some came after. One night they were taken to the docks and put on a boat. Once they set sail the girls were bound below deck, beaten and raped. They were told they were being trained for their new lives in America, that they were property now and should start behaving like it. There were three men on the boat, they started injecting all the victims with heroin. Mai doesn’t know how long they were on the boat for, but it was long enough to send the girls into withdrawals a few times before giving them. One night they came onto shore. It wasn’t a port, just a rocky outpost, and they untied the girls’ legs and marched them for hours. It’s at this point that Mai begins crying, eyes flitting between Harry and Cooper as she chokes on her grief. Mrs. Yutang gathers her in an embrace, but it doesn’t seem to soothe her.

“I should have ran. I should have ran, but I was so tired and hungry and thirsty and they had guns. I should have ran, I should have ran, I’m such a coward...” There’s an awkward contrast between Mai’s hysterical sobbing and Mrs. Lam’s flat, neutral tone and Cooper can tell it makes Harry uncomfortable. He’s all awkward teenage boy, shifting uncomfortably, rubbing his palms against his elbows in a self-hug. Part of Cooper is irritable, bitter. How did such a sensitive, awkward man ever become sheriff? Without Cooper to ask the hard questions, face the hard situations, he doubts the murder of Laura Palmer ever would have been solved. Another part feels pleasurably buzzed, is getting drunk off the discomfort and the tears and the pain. Underneath both these things Cooper is confused, disgusted with himself, and most of all just _so tired_.

“Ms. Ling.” Cooper says softly. “What happened next?” Mai sniffles and pulls herself out of Mrs. Yutang’s arms, swallows around her self-pity. A van took them to a saw mill. They were lead to a trap door and they all went inside. The days are a blur after that. A big man attended to them, fed them, injected them, raped and beat them. A couple of the girls lost the will to live and died. Then there was the fire, more girls died shortly after that. The man stopped coming, and Mai thought she had died before waking up in the hospital.

“The man who came to you. Was he the only one?” Mai nods. “What did he look like?” Fat. Not very tall. Creepy laugh. Violent. Blue eyes. Small dick.

“Ms. Ling, you’ve been very brave today and we appreciate your cooperation. I just have one more question and then we’ll go. We need to identify the other girls. I have pictures here, but they are all in very bad shake and looking at them will be distressing. Is it OK to do this tonight?” Mai purses her lips and nods, a determined glint in her eye. “I’m going to come around to the side of the bed and hand these pictures to you one by one, OK?” Mai nods her assent again, and Cooper approaches carefully, holds the ugly photos out in front of her. Her eyes snap shut at the first one and Cooper thinks he may have pushed her too hard. But they fly open again and she begins to talk. As they go through the photos more of the story comes out. She knew first names only – two of the girls were Korean. They didn’t share a common language so she never spoke to them directly but Jing knew a little and they called themselves A-Yeoung and Cho-Hee. One girl was Vietnamese but spoke broken Cantonese, referred to herself as ‘Bich’. She thinks another three were Cambodian, and they kept to themselves, didn’t seem to share any languages. Then there were Fei, Kei-Lee, Lin and Mui, all Hong Kong nationals.

“Thank you for your time. If you have anything else you’d like to add, I’m going to leave you my card. I’m staying in a hotel right now, so I’ve put that number on the back. You can call me at any time.” Cooper tells her, and fishes out a card that he hands to Mrs. Yutang for safe keeping. Harry gets up and nods towards Mai.

“Mm goi.” He says, and both women light up. Cooper watches as Mai comes alive, says something very quickly, but Harry just shakes his head and gives a sheepish grin, gives a short reply. Mai has a tender, hopefully expression on her face as they say goodbye, and Cooper knows that it’s beyond petty to feel jealous of a victim of human trafficking so he just grits his teeth. Mrs. Yutang walks with them down the hall, and they stop in the lobby to say goodbye.

“Your assistance was very helpful and I’m sure you didn’t get paid overtime to stay here, so we are very appreciative.” Cooper says.

“Oh no, it’s not problem. But I wanted to let you know,” she lowers her voice and Cooper and Harry lean in. “She says she’s from Hong Kong, but I don’t think so. Her grasp of Cantonese is very good but not perfect. I think her native language is Mandarin – Cantonese has more tones, and it doesn’t sound quite right when she speaks it.”

“Do you think Mrs. Lam may have had problems with the translation?” Cooper asks. She shakes her head.

“No, no. Like I said, it is very good, perfectly understandable, just not to the proficiency of a native speaker.” Cooper nods warily.

“That isn’t surprising, but thank you for the insight.”

It’s almost noon by the time they leave and the highway seems to stretch on endlessly towards Twin Peaks. Cooper thinks he should suggest lunch, but knows that neither of them could eat.

“I didn’t know you spoke Cantonese,” he says, tries not to make it an accusation.

“Josie was teaching me bits and pieces,” Harry admits. “I probably shouldn’t have opened my mouth in there, but she seemed to appreciate the effort.”

“A pretty girl with a mysterious past. Try not to get too hard, Harry.”

“Jesus fucking Christ Cooper.” Harry finally takes the bait, his hand hits the top of the dash as he swings it. “You wanna fight? Let’s fight. You’ve been a fucking asshole since you got in, and it just seems to be getting worse. C’mon, get it all off your chest, because I’m running out of patience for this bullshit.”

“No Harry, you wanna know what’s bullshit?” He goes into a bitter falsetto. “’Oh, Harry, you trust Josie? OK, I won’t run a background check about this mystery woman we know nothing about, because the feeling in your dick is bona fide proof of her goodness.’ I trusted you, and you let me down. And I know you – you’re sitting here, talking pretty words about how you’re not going to fuck up the investigation, but you’re still hoping she comes out smelling like a rose.”

“Fine, I’m _sorry_. Is that what you want to hear? I’m _sorry_ that I got involved with Josie, I’m _sorry_ I had a little too much faith in her, I’m _sorry_ that Laura Palmer brought you to our backwater little town, and I’m _sorry_ that you had to wind up working with the stupidest sheriff in the west. And I’m sorry you fell in love with me, and that I broke your heart, but I keep-”

“This isn’t about you breaking my heart, Harry.” Cooper’s voice becomes oddly calm, even though his knuckles are turning white on the wheel. He thinks (hopes) that maybe this is what he’s been waiting for, that if he vents his spleen then maybe he get a grip on himself again. “It’s you and that entire damned town. I came here with a certain way of viewing the world, an overarching philosophy, and I was _damned_ happy with that philosophy. Then I got into Twin Peaks and everything felt so right that it had a ring of destiny about it – like this was going to be some pivotal place, time, in my life. And then _you happened_ , and you began changing the way I looked at things, the way I viewed myself. There were ups and downs but before I stepped into your office to say goodbye, I thought that overall it was good. That Twin Peaks had called me so that I could find you, that you were leading me to where I needed to go, changing me into who I was supposed to become. And then I realized that it was really the blind leading the blind, that there was nothing special here or between us, that you really had taken pieces of me but couldn’t give enough of yourself in return and now I’m stuck here.” His voice is wavering, and he has to take a moment to bite down on his lips. “You showed me that the old me was naive, idealistic, wrong about everything, but now I’m just empty. If you had only broken my heart, it wouldn’t be this bad.” He can feel Harry’s gaze and apprehension, doesn’t know which of them the sorrow belongs to. He wants to believe that Harry is expanding, reaching out to him in that call he once felt – the desire to merge beyond their physicality. Except Cooper knows that is a lie, that it was wishful romantic thinking on his part, and just feels more self-pity for it.

“Coop,” Harry says weakly.

“Just shut it. You’re going to give me some beautifully strung sentences that are going to make me want to believe in something again, and I can’t handle it right now. You say you’re not good with words but I know that isn’t true. The fact of the matter is, you’re too good with them.” Cooper reaches to the center console and turns on the radio. He doesn’t know what’s playing, but he can’t concentrate anyway. They’re silent the rest of the way back.


	10. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS!
> 
> This chapter has some more disturbing-than-usual stuff, so I'm putting some vague trigger warnings here, but I'll elaborate on them on the notes at the end.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING #1: Audrey/Cooper, with Audrey having a very painful, unpleasant time. Basically, Cooper fucks up big time and hurts Audrey, which makes her sour on him and fills Cooper with shame. To skip this part, stop reading at the line 'Cooper orders room service' and you can resume reading when the italiced part comes. But that leads to trigger warning #2.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING #2: Disturbing dream sequence - very violent/bloody/vorey. To skip this part, it is the first sequence of italics. It is safe to resume when the italics goes away. To skip both trigger warnings, please skip over everything from 'Cooper orders room service' to when the first set of italics end. I've put **** around both disturbing parts, so you can look for those as well.

Cooper wasn’t sure what he had expected, but he doesn’t feel any better after venting his spleen to Harry. He’s just tired and achy, his head is cloudy, feels like he might be coming down with a cold. He’s angry at himself for giving another part away to Harry, wants to stem the tide of unequal giving, but doesn’t know how to stop. When they arrive at the station he’s still ignoring Harry, slams the door of the Lincoln before shoving his way into the lobby. Hawk and Lucy look up from their conversation and Cooper joins them.

“Well?” he asks. They both eye him warily as Hawk hands him a stack of papers. Harry comes in, stands just a little too close at Cooper’s back. Hawk looks between them, unsure of what he is allowed to say, so Cooper prompts him. “Did Malcolm and John find anything in Seattle?”

“Sort of.” Hawk says. “They reviewed the footage, and Josie initially tried to pay with another card that the cashier didn’t accept. She said that the card had a man’s name and it’s company policy that the ID has to match the name on the card. She couldn’t remember what the name was though.”

“Sheriff Truman, are you O.K.?” Lucy asks.

“I’m fine Lucy.” Cooper doesn’t have to turn around to know that the sheriff doesn’t look good. The entire drive back to Twin Peaks the man had been a mess of anxious, befuddled energy and Cooper has had enough of it.

“Malcolm and John are on their way back. I gave them the day off tomorrow, so we’re going to be short-handed again.” Hawk glances at Cooper just long enough that he knows it is an accusation.

“Did anything happen in town?” Harry asks, and Cooper leaves them to go into the conference room to review the documents he had been handed.

The CIA has produced a dossier on Josie, and it’s so long that it makes Cooper angry. He had trusted Harry’s instincts, hadn’t run a background check, and now both of their naivete had come back to bite them in the ass. Cooper had been right – Jocelyn Packard had been born Li Chun Fung, somewhere along the line had forged documents to drop her birth name. There’s endless reports in both Chinese and English, it takes him until the end of the day to go through them all. Born to a high-ranking man in a triad, after her father’s untimely demise she had dropped in status, become involved in all manner of crime. Prostitution, petty theft, identity theft – almost every white collar and blue collar crime on the books. She flitted from one scheme to another, making it hard for Hong Kong’s Criminal Intelligence Bureau to track her. She had a lengthy arrest record but few actual charges and she always seemed to weasel out of those as well. In a sick way Cooper is impressed – she had always appeared so vulnerable, so thrumming with anxiety that even his suspicious mind couldn’t have imagined such a lengthy dossier. 

He’s ready to call it a day when Harry sticks his head into the office. He’s unusually tense and awkward, even for Harry, hands ball into fists that twitch in his pockets and a face that can’t decide on what expression to wear.

“Cooper.” He says.

“Yes?” Cooper tidies the documents into one file again as he looks up expectantly.

“Wanna have a drink?” he asks, and Cooper thinks his voice might crack like a pubescent boy asking a girl on a date for the first time.

“No.” he lies, because there’s finally something that Harry wants and there’s a vicious pleasure in denying him. “I need to catch up on some sleep.”

“Good idea.” He stands in the doorway, all thinly-veiled crestfallen puppy and sadness. The patheticness of it both disgusts and delights Cooper. Harry lingers, like there’s more to say, and Cooper just waits him out.

“I guess I’ll see you in the morning,” he finally says.

“I guess you will.” Harry nods and turns, and the victory that Cooper feels is decidedly Pyhrric in nature.

****

Cooper orders room service when he gets back to the Great Northern. The dining room seems too cheerful, too noisy and bright, and Cooper can’t stand the thought of having to make small talk with the waitress, so he orders room service. It’s too early to go to sleep so he tries meditating. He finds his mind settles easily, few thoughts coming into it so it should be great, except the emptiness is a gaping chasm that fills him with dread. He’s relieved when he hears a knock on the door, excusing him from his practice.

“Special Agent Cooper!” Audrey enthusiastically greets him and for a moment he is speechless. She’s dressed in a French maid uniform, breasts peaking over the top of the lace, her skirt so short he can see where her thigh high stockings end. Arousal stirs in his groin, primal and vicious, and in the recesses of his mind an alarm rings, telling him to get her out of his room.

“Put the tray on the table.” He nods towards his beside table, and her grin widens. He shuts the door behind her, watches her ass as she bends low. He can see the gusset of her panties, embedded between two perfectly creamy thighs. He vaguely notices that there’s a piece of chocolate cake on the tray that he didn’t order, whipped cream piled high on the side.

“I thought you deserved a little treat for all the hard work you do.” Audrey faces him, coy smile playing around her lips. She’s right, of course. He’s given his all to this town and in return it has torn him down, spit in his face while keeping him chained there. He’s long due for a little treat.

“It’s a hard case,” he agrees as he draws closer. He reaches out and strokes her chin and Audrey looks on the brink of orgasm already. He draws her into him, grinds his pelvis into her navel and presses a soft kiss to her lips. Hers immediately open and he presses harder, becomes demanding, and her breath comes out in gasps, her heart beating so loudly Cooper can feel it in his own chest.

“On the bed,” he demands and she eagerly complies, kicking off her high heels and laying there like she’s waiting to be devoured. Audrey’s eyes are half-lidded, drowsy with desire, and Cooper is light-headed, almost dizzy as he goes to his suitcase to pull out his condoms. He’s not sure they’re in date, it’s been a while, but that doesn’t matter to him right now. He sets it on the tray and climbs up to kiss her again, pushing his hand under her back so he can get to her zipper. She arches her back, pushes her breasts into him, and Cooper catches the top with his teeth, pulling her top down as he unzips the back. She’s not wear a bra and her tits lay flat, shifting slightly with Audrey’s movements. He slaps the left one lightly, then the right, and she giggles as the flesh jiggles. He lowers his head and pops a nipple into his mouth. She gasps and pulls him closer as he starts nibbling, lets out a shriek when he bites down.

“Shhh,” he admonishes, bringing a finger to her lips. “We don’t want your father to hear us.” She giggles again.

“I don’t think he’d care.” And she might be right, since they are talking about a man who didn’t report his daughter missing for two days. He makes his way down, pulling the uniform pas her hips as he nips a trail down to her pubic bone. She lifts her hips and Cooper yanks the French maid outfit to her feet, pulling it off and onto the floor. The gusset of her panties is damp, dark with wetness, and he can smell her arousal. It’s a heady aroma, clean and airy, and Cooper gives a quick lick up her slit. Her hips try to arch off the bed but he holds them steady, pushes her underwear aside so his fingers can find her entrance. One finger probes before another joins it, she’s so wet his fingers squelch inside of her. She moans quietly as he strokes her walls, but she lets out a gasp of discomfort when a third finger joins the party. Somehow this is better than all the noises she’s made before.

He’s tired of waiting, the hunger grows too strong, so he shoves her panties down past her knees. She awkwardly tries to shimmy them off, hampered by Cooper’s weight on her legs. Cooper becomes more impatient, is frustrated by the fact that he has to crawl off of her to take off his pants and boxers. He doesn’t bother removing his shirt, he’s too wound up, but Audrey watches him hungrily as his cock springs free, the tip red and glistening with precome. He tears open the condom, palms it onto his cock and gets on top of Audrey again. Her pupils are dilated with excitement and a tinge of fear. He grabs onto his wrists and holds them above her head as he eases himself in. She’s tight, virginally tight, and he slowly pushes through the resistance. Her mouth gapes and her brows furrow in pain, and Cooper has to fight not to come, to draw the moment out for both of them.

“Ugh...” She gasps, her eyes glancing between their hips and his face. “It hurts.”

“I know,” he replies soothing, and then give a hard, fast thrust so that he’s buried to the hilt. She screams, tries to roll over to get away from him, and Cooper comes so hard he sees stars, forces all of his weight on her to keep her still. When he comes to his cheek is next to hers and he can hear Audrey whimpering, feels a salty trail running between them. The Watcher smiles, vicious and ugly.

“Audrey.” Cooper jumps up, backs away from the bed. He looks ridiculous, used condom hanging from his spent cock, and his hands tremble as he takes it off, throws the prophylactic into the trash can. “I… I need you to leave now.”

“What?” she croaks. She’s a disheveled heap, mascara drooling down her face, stockings askew. She looks at him disbelievingly through red-rimmed eyes and Cooper hates himself, hates this moment, needs it to go away.

“I’m sorry,” he offers awkwardly, throws her maid outfit on top of her. “I just… you can’t be here.” She rises, eyes dull and lifeless, and there’s a robotic elements to the way she slips back into her clothes. Cooper can’t watch, just stares at the wall and the floor until she’s done dressing. For a moment she just stand there, waiting for him to take back his words, but the silences stretches on.

“You’re an asshole,” she says finally, syllables choking on her rage. Her heels echo against the floor, and when the door latches Cooper sinks to the floor. He can’t stop trembling, can’t think over the shame roaring in his ears. He wishes he was alone but The Watcher is there, soaking leisurely in his confusion, and he doesn’t know what to do.

_He seals Harry’s mouth with his own, stealing his breath until Harry is choking, gasping into Cooper’s mouth, batting at his chest with weak, calloused hands. Cooper waits until he’s almost out of breath, on the verge of unconsciousness before releasing his lips. Harry splutters, gasps as Cooper trails down his neck, sucking hard enough to break capilaries. Cooper’s hand is on his cock, roughly tugging like sandpaper, as he latches onto the prominent vein on the side of Harry’s neck. He bites down, incisors breaking the flesh and the blood vessel wall, and Harry’s blood sprays both of them, gushing forth in spurting rivers._

_“Cooper.” Harry groans, and even though he’s only half-hard his cock throbs in eminent orgasm. Cooper bites deeper, tears through flesh and drinks down blood until he hits something hollow. He bites through the tube and Harry can’t gasp anymore, just jerks violently as his orgasm hits and his eyes roll to the back of his head. Cooper can’t stop, keeps biting and chewing and swallowing until..._

****

Cooper jerks awake as the phone rings. His head is cloudy yet too heavy for his body, and he doesn’t know why he’s sitting with his back against the wall, dressed only in his shirt. He stands on unsteady legs, fumbles over to the phone.

“Hello?”

“Agent Cooper.” The sound of his name jerks him back to reality and all the pieces of his evening crash into place. Hawk is on the other end, being today’s victim of the overnight shift. “I know it’s late. Seattle PD called. They saw Josie. Apparently they were doing a prostitution sting and she got caught up in it. She managed to slip away though.” Cooper sighs.

“OK. Let me think.” He could go up right now, except if the Seattle PD haven’t caught Josie, he’s unlikely to run across her on the way up. “You know what? We’re not going to worry about this tonight. We’ll go up in the morning.”

“Understood. Sorry for bothering you.”

“No, I appreciate it. Keep me updated.”

_Cooper is in that place where the earth and the sky and the water meet with eternity stretched out over the horizon. He is weightless, free-floating with the birds and the stars. He wants to stay here, soar around without ever landing._

_“You need to wake up.” There’s a woman walking towards him. She has curly brown hair, wears a dated floral print dress and coke-bottle glasses. She’s pretty, in a homely way, around Cooper’s age._

_“I don’t want to wake up,” he says stubbornly, flaps his arms for emphasis. “I don’t like it there.”_

_“The dreamer who lives inside the dream creates his own nightmare,” she says kindly, and reaches out in a gust of wind to fix his flailing hair. Then he’s falling, falling too fast towards the dam and only hopes that that impact is painless, that his consciousness just disappears without agony or prolonged suffering._

It isn’t until his phone rings again at six that Cooper realizes that he had fallen asleep. He reaches for the phone, voice heavy with sleep as he answers.

“Coop, it’s Harry. He’s been shot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Elaboration on trigger warnings.
> 
> Trigger warning #1: Audrey enthusiastically seduces Cooper, who does not care about her pleasure and makes her first time painful, uncomfortable and a bit emotionally scarring.
> 
> Trigger warning #2: Cooper has a dream sequence where he bites into Harry's neck and starts devouring him.


End file.
